


Freedom's Limits

by Zoop (zoop526)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, Romance, Tragedy, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He had only come across such vileness once before, three years past. Then, it had been a Woman with an orc lover. She had been beyond redemption, defending her monstrous partner as though it were her goodly husband." - 'Splint,' by HelenaMarkos. Who were they? What was their story? With the gracious permission of the author, Zoop is about to tell you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Hanging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HelenaMarkos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaMarkos/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Splint](https://archiveofourown.org/works/696967) by [HelenaMarkos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaMarkos/pseuds/HelenaMarkos). 



> A/N: The lovely and talented Helenamarkos, for whom this story is written, has drawn some wonderful scenes for some of the chapters. Whenever there's a picture for a chapter, I'll include a link to the image in the notes. To start you off, here's the first one she drew that really made me want to write their story: http://www.flickr.com/photos/helenamarkos/8699548836/in/set-72157633048803334/

**Note from the Zoop:** Let this be a warning - don't make idle mention of Orc x Woman pairings if you don't want the Zoop grabbing them with both hands and telling their story. Helena Markos fell into this trap with a single paragraph in _Splint_ , and has graciously granted me permission to adopt her ill-fated lovers. This is the _Splint_ universe and follows Helena Markos's rules. I hope I don't have to guide your steps to reading that amazing story. If you haven't read _Splint_ , don't deny yourself the privilege any longer.

There is a certain appeal in crafting a tragic love story, of watching the doomed lovers meet and connect only to be torn asunder. We go in knowing how it will end, yet we still hope it was an illusion. Their fate can't possibly be what we were led to believe. The worst part of it is... our hopes are in vain, aren't they? Fetch your hankies, folks. I'll most certainly have a few on hand myself.

 **Note from Helena Markos:** When Zoop asked to "adopt" my wayward, barely mentioned couple from _Splint_ , I was a little surprised. When she still wanted to write this story after the copious amount of PMs and docXes I sent outlining orcish behavior and physiology, the people of Harad, the slaves of Barad dur and the massive amounts of timelines and side notes and character notes I gave her, I was honestly completely shocked.

I really can't think of anyone better to write this story. I feel like Zoop's penchant for orcish romance is practically legendary at this point. When I read the outline, I'll admit, I was a bit misty. To see someone take all of the ridiculous amount of work you've done and make a story in your world is immensely humbling, and I am so grateful that she has done it here.

So, while we start at the end, and it may seem a sad beginning, I think you may be surprised at the glimmer in the end. Thanks again, Zoopers. You're the best! :D

* * *

**Prologue: Hanging**

She'd never sat a horse in all her life, and now at the end of it, she found the broad back most uncomfortable. She sat straight with her hands bound behind her back. One of the men who condemned her had cut open her dress and pulled it down from her shoulders, exposing her to the waist so all might see the marks made upon her flesh as proof of her sins.

He'd tried other things as well, but the cold man in black stopped him. He'd said it wasn't _right_.

Madavi held her gaze steadily in the distance, a strange calm setting in as his men mocked and reviled her. Brow pinching in confusion, she went over every small thing that had happened, every insignificant detail, searching desperately for what she must have missed.

How had she come to this? Where had she gone astray? Did not free people live as they wished? Wasn't _she_ free? No one saw fit to tell her what it meant to be free. She'd been given a thing she knew nothing about by a King whose face she never saw, with a name she couldn't remember, from a land she'd never seen.

Smador told her once that there were limits to freedom. If there were lines drawn upon this 'freedom,' boundaries beyond which none were allowed to step, Madavi was not informed of _that_ either. She had only her own nature to guide her, and so she did not steal or murder. She spoke no insulting word. She had never caused even minor injury, much less stood idly by and allowed it to happen.

Yet she was condemned. She sat upon the horse beneath the tree, accused of depravity by men she didn't know who declared that her deeds were so great in their foulness that the continuation of her existence threatened the lives of all decent folk. The man in black admonished them, yet his words were no better. He spoke of the taint upon her soul, the mark of the Shadow that must be expunged lest it fester and so spread like the storm of Mordor of years past.

She could only see their words as lies, for she was not the person they described. They did not listen to her desperate pleading when they pried her son from her arms and crushed his skull beneath their boots. They did not hear her wail of despair when they cut down her grief-stricken mate.

Who drew the line? Why did no one tell her of it? Was the line placed differently depending upon who drew it? How was she to know? Why was death the punishment for ignorance?

And why was her son, not yet weaned from her breast and innocent of all sin, punished as well? Why was he, made with love in their hearts and smiles upon their faces, called a foul abomination unfit to live?

Madavi took some comfort in knowing that her daughter had escaped. These Men took such delight in murdering Rauni before her eyes, she had no doubt if they'd caught Amani, they would make her watch that as well.

The rough texture of the rope brushing her cheek as the noose dropped about her neck made Madavi's breath quicken. The man in black's face was somber as he leaned close from the back of his horse and adjusted the noose. He considered her beyond redemption, and claimed her fate was in the hands of Eru now.

She'd been told once of Those Who Listened, and hoped They would hear her now.

 _Please_ , she silently begged, _watch over my Amani._ Even within herself, speaking to a Power she knew little about, she could not demand. _If it would not be too much trouble,_ she pleaded, _for I know I haven't the right to ask it, could I go to Smador? Wherever he has gone? If that is not right, and Men do not go to the same place as Orcs, then please see that Rauni finds his da. He is so small. He would be so afraid if he was alone._

The noose was yanked tight, barely allowing room to swallow, even less to breathe. She heard the smack against the horse's rump, felt the animal's body tense and muscles bunch as it bolted, and in that brief moment before the rope snapped taught, Madavi remembered...


	2. Chapter 1: Beginning

It was the unexpectedly foul reek assaulting her nose that alerted Madavi to the intruder in the cellar. She'd gone down to fetch another basket of taters for the midday meal, and there it was: the stench of the sewers. Blanching, she covered her nose and mouth with a kerchief and searched the shadows. The Matron would not be pleased if the tunnels were clogging up so soon before an influx of Men filled the barracks.

Below the stairs was a barrel of scraps and offal intended for Master's wargs, and tipped headfirst into that barrel was a _snaga_ Orc. Huffing impatiently, Madavi shifted her burden to her hip and scolded, "Here, now! Clear out of there!"

The Orc scrambled from the barrel, his features greased from the fat and guts, and gave her a startled look.

"Go on!" she snapped, shooing him off.

Green eyes glittering in the dimness, he grinned toothily at her. With a wink, he snatched another handful and stuffed it in his mouth, then darted away between stacks of crates.

"Cheeky imp!" she cried indignantly. She didn't dare follow him into whatever hole he'd disappeared through; the Matron was full of stories describing the folly of children chasing Orcs down rat holes, never to be heard from again. Had she not herself known one little boy who did just that and disappeared, she might have scoffed at such tales meant to frighten the younger ones.

Madavi was born in Barad'dûr, in the service of the Eye. She'd grown up around Orcs, fetched and carried side-by-side with her fellow _snaga,_ both Man and Orc. She knew better than to think the boy met any other fate than the stew pot down in the Orcish kitchens.

Shaking her head, she trudged back up the stairs. Though she firmly believed stealing was wrong, at least he pilfered the warg food. Not many cared if a handful went missing from _their_ meals. It would likely go unnoticed, and no one would be blamed for the theft. The Matron didn't wield a whip like her Orcish counterpart in the lower kitchens, but she had a willow switch that hurt just as much.

* * *

Not a day later, the _snaga_ Orc was back, this time boldly digging into the jerked meat held back for the Mannish soldiers' rations. This was too much; the contents of the scraps barrel wasn't inventoried, but the rations were. Madavi chased him off with a broom this time.

But she got a better look at him than before, and her brow furrowed at the sight of him. He was one of those long-armed Orcs who tended to go about on all fours. What caught her attention, though, was how thin he looked. Orcs were known to be hungry all the time; that was enough to explain away the thieving. This one seemed to be _starving_.

He was barely dressed as well, clad only in a loincloth. She wondered if he'd been given anything else. She rarely saw the _snaga_ Orcs so bare, and not because they were particularly modest. It simply wasn't safe to go unclothed with so many bared weapons about.

Then there was his smell to consider. It announced him more clearly than the clarion calls telling the soldiers when and where to muster. If he was acquiring a stink like that, he couldn't be too far from the bottom. The _snaga_ Men had their hierarchies, delegating the unsavory tasks to the young ones with little experience, the ones who hadn't established any kind of reputation for being skillful in a particular area yet. Among the _snaga_ Orcs, there was a similar ordering, though how it was established escaped her understanding. The 'unsavory' tasks, though, typically involved the sewer tunnels.

Madavi worried for him then. From what she knew of Orcs, he likely got shoved aside or wrestled to the ground when rations were distributed. It was no wonder he came to the Upper kitchens! There was so much Men wouldn't eat off a beast, the guts included. Only the wargs benefited from that waste.

Regardless, stealing was wrong. Not only did it hurt the one stolen from, it wasn't tolerated. Terrible punishments were meted out if anyone was caught at it. She hated the idea that this Orc, likely no older than her thirteen years, was getting off to such a bad start. She resolved to help him.

* * *

The following day, Madavi took her assigned meal down to the storeroom to eat, hoping the Orc would appear. She ate slowly, stretching her neck to see into the darkest corners. She wondered if he stayed away because she was there, and worried her lip. Perhaps she shouldn't have spoken so harshly.

When she'd eaten half her bread and had started on half the strip of salt pork, her nose wrinkled of its own accord. A wave of sympathy went through her; he really was _far_ down in the pecking order, wasn't he?

His dark form flitted between the barrels at the back of the cellar. Madavi set her meal aside and stood.

"Hello!" she called, making sure she sounded welcoming. "No, don't run!"

The Orc froze, his body tensed to spring back into the shadows. He slowly turned his head to look at her with large, green eyes.

Madavi timidly approached, but kept a cautious distance from him. "Are... are you hungry? I've a bit of food I can spare. You needn't steal."

"Whatchou doin' that fer?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Well... it isn't _right_ , you see?" she told him as reasonably as she could.

"What ain't right?" he growled.

"Stealing," she replied pointedly. "We're not supposed to. If the Matron caught you..."

Snorting indelicately, the Orc smirked. "Ol' biddy can't see nothin'. Been down'ere pinchin' shit for days, right under'er big nose..."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you're quite clever," she interrupted. "Please. I can share with you. It's no trouble."

"Why you wanna do that?" He tilted his head to the side and regarded her warily.

Sighing, she shrugged. "It's just not right, stealing. Come along, now. I have salt pork and bread. It's much better than the soldiers' rations, and a sight better than what's in those barrels." Turning, she went back to her perch on the stairs and sat down. The Orc hesitantly followed.

"Sit," she directed, patting the step next to her. Though every moment in his odiferous presence was a trial, Madavi was determined to muddle through. Uncertainly, he joined her. She smiled pleasantly and handed him half her meal. Shrugging, he bit a chunk off the pork and chewed quickly and noisily.

Smiling with satisfaction, Madavi took delicate bites of her own pork. After a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the Orc's occasional groan as he savored the meat, she ventured a bit of conversation.

"I am Madavi," she told him. "What is your name?"

Swallowing his mouthful, he glanced up at her. "Smador."

"I am very pleased to meet you, Smador," she beamed. "Have you been in Barad'dûr long? I've not seen you before."

He shrugged. "Born here. Mum's in the pits. Got big enough to work, so I got bunged out." Furrowing his heavy brow thoughtfully, he guessed, "Been 'bout a year, I expect."

"So long?" Madavi asked with surprise. "Goodness. I thought I knew all the Orcs working the kitchens..."

"Not in the kitchens," Smador pointed out, then ducked his head. His voice was low; he wasn't proud of his duty. "In the tunnels, mostly. Gotta dig'em out when they plug up. Some'uh them rat nests is kinduh big. Gotta break'em up." Cobbling together some dignity, he boasted, "Ain't nobody knows 'em tunnels like ol' Smador does." Jerking his chin toward a shadowy corner, he added with a grin, "Finally found one'at leads 'ere. Good eatin' in the Man kitchens."

"It does seem as though you spend a good deal of time in the tunnels," she said without thinking. She winced when she realized she might've insulted him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"'S'okay," Smador muttered, looking away.

Madavi decided to change the subject. Casting about, she noticed particular scars on his face that seemed more deliberate than any of the others about his body. "You have curious markings on your cheek. What are they for?"

"Mum's clan," he said, running a clawed finger lightly over the twin jagged scars. "She don't remember much 'bout'em. They come from the south." He shrugged. "Mum's mum had'em, too. She puts'em on all'er sprogs 'fore they's taken from'er."

"Why?" she asked.

He shrugged again. "Cause'er mum done it."

Madavi nodded. "I don't remember my mother. I'm told this was hers, but I don't know." She touched the faded blue and yellow floral scarf covering her black hair and draped loosely around her neck.

Smador looked at her for several moments as though he felt sorry for her. Madavi wondered at that; she was so accustomed to having no family, it didn't seem out of the ordinary. Perhaps Smador pitied her lack. He had his mum, and some sense of where he came from. She honestly had never thought about either of these things before.

"Better git," the Orc sighed, standing up. Madavi stood as well.

"I'll take my meals here, and you may join me," she told him.

He arched his brow a bit, but otherwise made no reply. Nodding to her, he shuffled off to the rear of the cellar, and soon she could no longer hear the slapping sounds of his bare feet on the stone.

* * *

The next time Smador met her in the dimly-lit cellar, she knew right away something was different.

"Why, Smador," she said as they settled on the step and she unwrapped her meal, "you've moved up, haven't you?"

Hiding his smile rather unsuccessfully, he said, " _Nar_ , same old job."

Leaning over with suspicious amusement, she whispered, "I do believe you've washed." She passed him a good portion of meat and bread.

Smador accepted her offering with a pleased grin.


	3. Chapter 2: Reinforcing

"Put yer backs into it, or I'll have _you_ in the pot!" the Matron barked.

Madavi struggled along with Pratima, her elder by at least two seasons, to drag the great cookpot from the closet across the kitchen to the hearth. They shared a giggle over the Matron's threat; all knew the Men didn't eat little girls, in spite of her insistence to the contrary. Now if she'd threatened to send them down to the Orcish kitchens...

Not more than a few days had passed since Madavi began sharing meals with Smador, and the reinforcements had finally arrived from the East. Now she wasn't the only one coming down to fetch ingredients for the Matron's soups and stews. There were many more mouths to feed among the soldiery, and that required many more hands to cook. Her meetings with Smador became hurried affairs; she didn't want him getting in trouble for spending too much time in the Upper kitchens' storerooms.

Once the pot was in position, the two girls joined Sima at one of the tables, cutting up taters and carrots, onions and leeks, chunks of lard, slabs of meat... The tables were heaped with raw ingredients. The _snaga_ girls and boys were ranged up and down the four tables set in the center of the kitchen, hands and knives working briskly and more-or-less efficiently.

The Matron kept a keen eye on them all, stalking back and forth, making sure they prepared the right vegetables in the right order, and the runners didn't drop anything as they scurried back and forth from table to pot. The latter duty fell to the youngest. Pratima often referred to the Matron as a wraith, for the old woman had been deep in the bowels of the tower for so long, her shriveled skin was pale from lack of light. Madavi heard once that the Matron even ran the Orcish kitchens ages ago, until a suitable replacement was bred and raised up proper. It was speculated, privately of course, that the Matron taught _that_ cruel taskmaster everything he knew.

Checking over her shoulder, Pratima whispered to Madavi, "I heard they're Mamlakah."

Furrowing her brow, but not taking her eyes off her work, Madavi asked, "Who?"

"The _Men_ ," Pratima said impatiently. "Who do you think we're making all this for, hmm?"

Madavi shrugged. "I generally don't ask."

"Hmph," Pratima snorted. "Well, I suppose Matron _did_ box my ear for asking, but I got from an Orc that they marched in through the Gates this morning." She sighed wistfully. "They don't pick one of us often, but when they do, they're quite generous."

"Matron says I'll be serving today," Madavi said casually, though inside she was somewhat nervous.

"Well, pretty as you are," Sima chimed in, "you'll get _lots_ of coin."

"Oh, hush," Pratima snapped. " _That_ lot doesn't want someone as young as Madavi." Pausing in her work to pat Madavi on the shoulder, she added, "Not that you aren't pretty, dear. You're certain to be taken Upstairs when you're older."

Noting Pratima's pinched brow, Madavi gave her a hug. "You as well. You'll be dressed in silks and bathed in scented oils, Pratima. Just you wait."

"You're sweet," Pratima beamed.

"I'll be for the barracks, I'm sure," Sima muttered. "I don't fancy laundering those stinky Men's clothing. That's likely _all_ I'll be wanted for. They don't give you coins for scrubbing their underthings."

Chuckling, Pratima teased, "Some of the Orcs aren't particular, and I've heard the Women aren't too keen on warming _their_ beds. I'm sure you'll find _something_ to do."

"Ew," Sima grimaced.

Rounding on Madavi, Pratima asked, "What of your little friend, then? _He_ hasn't been after you, has he?"

"Of course not," Madavi admonished. "We just talk. It's nice not to have to do anything for a little while."

"What can you possibly talk about with one of them?" Sima asked.

"Oh, this and that," Madavi shrugged. "Little things. Small talk, mostly. He tells me what things are like below, I tell him how it is up here."

"Sounds dreadfully dull," Pratima declared. "Well, if you _do_ get picked, go straight to the Matron after. She'll want to give you the Herb."

Madavi glanced up from her neatly sliced carrots. "Herb?"

"So the man doesn't get you with child," the older girl said haughtily, pleased to know something they didn't. "Matron doesn't want us dropping babies when there's work to be done." Shaking her head, Pratima said, "It doesn't seem to work if you've been had at by an Orc, though. I saw that just a couple weeks ago. Poor woman; I don't even know if she lived after it was stopped, it was so late."

"What happened?" Sima hissed, scenting a scandalous tale and not wanting to miss a breath of it.

"Well," Pratima began in a conspiratorial undertone, "of course the woman was working in the barracks. She was _just_ beginning to show, because our folks hadn't managed to kill the thing early. None of the Matrons could seem to get rid of it in the normal way, so they called that grumpy old badger, Grazad, in to see to it. That old hag is older than dirt, so she's always got a helper with her. She must've eaten her other one, because she had a new one with her. Such cheek, that one! I didn't fetch her a bucket quick enough to please her, and she _cuffed_ me! I shan't forget the brat's name anytime soon, the old bat was shouting it so much. _Rukhash, fetch me a knife! Rukhash, move yer arse! Rukhash, yuh skinny cunt, tie this off!_ " Pratima laughed at her own imitation of the Goblin midwife.

"Enough'uh yer chatter!" the Matron squawked behind them. Madavi cringed and glanced over her shoulder. Thankfully, the switch wasn't raised, but the old woman's hawkish features were glaring beadily at the trio. They ducked their heads and worked furiously for several minutes until the threat wandered down to the next table.

"That doesn't happen often, though," Pratima whispered. "Orcs keep to themselves, mostly."

"What's it like, with the Men?" Madavi asked quietly.

"The first time, it hurts a bit, but after that..." Pratima shrugged. Seeing Madavi's worry, she smiled sympathetically. "Matron's switch hurts far worse, believe me. My advice is, don't fuss. The less you fuss, the sooner they finish with you."

* * *

The children past the age of thirteen ranged about the mess hall, trays loaded with bowls of rich stew in their arms. Madavi was grateful that she was assigned this duty now; had she been even a little younger, she wouldn't have been able to carry the weight of so many bowls at once.

As Madavi waited for an older boy to ladle stew into the clay bowls on her tray, the Matron sidled up to her and said in an even voice, "See that yer polite, now. Don't get cheeky with'em. This lot's mostly outta Mamlakah, so it ain't likely they'll fiddle with yuh. But just you remember yer place; one of'em picks yuh, you do what he wants or the Mouth'll hear about it. Now, if one of'em _does_ have yuh, come see me and I'll see to his leavin's. Understand?"

Madavi nodded swiftly, then let out a nervously shuddering breath. The Matron moved on down, no doubt giving the same instructions to the other boys and girls entering the mess hall for the first time.

Because the trays got unwieldy for the younger servers as bowls were taken off, they held the trays with both hands. The Men were obliged to take their bowl themselves, which invariably interrupted their conversations. Madavi shuffled from one soldier to the next, pausing long enough for them to notice her and retrieve their ration before moving on. When her tray was empty, she hastened to the kitchens for more.

There were hundreds of Men in the mess hall that day, far more than usual, and Madavi felt run off her feet fetching second helpings and refilling mugs with weak beer. Her bottom was patted frequently as she moved about, but none actually took her in hand. There was a great deal of laughter among the Men as the meal wore on and more mugs were drained.

It was when she was filling the mug of a soldier just beginning to show grey in his dark hair that her arm was grabbed rather roughly, nearly making her spill the beer. Startled, she looked at the soldier's face, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't supposed to do that.

The way he was looking her up and down made her feel uncomfortable and confused. She didn't understand the southern tongue, but she could tell by the tone of his fellows' voices that they were advising him to leave her be.

 _Oh_ , she realized, _I'm being picked, aren't I?_ Lowering her gaze, she tried to appear as meek and non-fussy as possible.

The soldier stood, waving away his fellows' concerns, and steered Madavi out of the hall. Her breath quickened with fear, but she kept reminding herself, _Don't fuss and he'll finish sooner. Don't fuss._ Yet she hugged that flagon of beer to her chest tightly.

There were many little closets and storerooms on this level, and he directed her clumsy feet into one. She barely noted which one it was. Taking the flagon from her hands, he set it on the floor and hoisted her up to sit on a crate.

As he unlaced the front of his breeches, Madavi quickly looked away. She fixed her eyes on the shelf to her left, noting the different sizes of the cast iron pots stacked in neat rows. He pushed up her skirt and she counted the sacks of flour stamped with the markings of Rhûn upon them.

The sting made her lose count. Shifting from the flour, she speculated on how many loaves of bread would be needed in the morning. It was likely she'd be woken before the dawn to begin mixing the dough. But first, there was the washing up to do. So many bowls to clean after such a large gathering...

The soldier stepped back, apparently finished. He seemed slightly ill, and couldn't seem to look at her face as he tied up his laces. Madavi took that as the cue to cover herself, and twitched her skirt back down over her knees. He fished about in a pouch on his belt, then awkwardly placed a few coppers on the crate next to her. Without another word or a glance, he left the room.

Madavi released a long breath. Hopping down from the crate, she picked up her coins and examined them. They were the first ones she'd ever seen, and were most intriguing. On one side, a Man's head was imprinted. On the other, some sort of leafy plant, though it was difficult to tell for certain.

Pocketing the coins, she paused for a moment to collect herself. She supposed it hadn't been so bad, being picked. Certainly not the worst thing she'd been made to do. Checking to make sure her head scarf was still properly in place, she picked up the flagon and went to find the Matron.


	4. Chapter 3: Kneading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "Breaking Bread" by Helenamarkos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/helenamarkos/10537490036/in/photostream/

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the kitchens, elbow-deep in mounds of dough. Runners brought the ingredients – flour from Rhûn-stamped bags – and portions saved from the last baking. Madavi's fingers dug into the dough, mixing the water and flour in, then rolling the mass into a fist-sized ball. The balls were then placed in neat rows on large metal trays and shaped. A pair of older boys carried the trays to a cool, dark corner to rise overnight.

There wasn't much opportunity for getting away. Madavi missed her chance at taking a meal of her own when the soldier picked her, and was obliged to wait until nightfall and the evening meal to see Smador now.

"At least he didn't hurt you," Pratima said when Madavi mentioned the soldier. "I know a girl that worked in the barracks whose hips got bruised from one of those Husami Men, he was so rough."

"Did you get any coins?" Sima asked hopefully.

"Yes, a few," Madavi replied. She wiped her hands on her apron and produced the coins. The girls leaned in close to see in the dim light.

"Oh, those are fine," Sima sighed wistfully. "And so many! Didn't I say you were pretty?"

"Better hide those away," Pratima advised, glancing around. "Matron'll have them from you if she sees them." Madavi quickly stuffed the four coins back into her pocket. The three girls dug into the dough once again.

The shaping of the bread dough was carefully done, for the Matron had been instructed to remind the soldiers of whom they served. Madavi meticulously shaped hers into an oval with tapered ends, and Pratima used a knife to slit the pupil of an eye. Sima's efforts at shaping were rather lopsided. Madavi spared her a beating, automatically correcting them before the trays were taken away.

By evening, Madavi could barely move her fingers and her wrists were puffy and sore. They made bread frequently, but rarely in such massive quantities. She wondered if the Master's war was reaching some sort of important point to warrant such a large influx of Men. It wasn't her place, or that of any other slave in the tower, to ask, but rumors were rampant and the Men didn't guard their talk at the table. Only the strangeness of their tongue kept anyone from knowing what they said.

But some _did_ know their tongue, and dutifully fed the rumor mill with what was learned.

Madavi wasn't as interested in gossip as Sima, so she left as soon as her shift was over and her meal was given. She'd hoped the midday ration would be added in, but none seemed to notice or care that she'd missed it. Sighing, she accepted her wrapped package and scurried away to the storeroom.

Taking the lantern from a hook by the door, she descended the stairs into the darkness. When she was much younger, the mountains of crates and boxes, barrels and bags, frightened her, for the shadows cast by the lantern's flame danced luridly behind them like monsters. She'd even feared Orcs at first, for they had large, almost luminous eyes and sharp teeth. As she grew, though, she learned there were far worse things to fear. The Matron was one of them. The main storeroom held less threat after a few rounds of the Matron's displeasure.

As usual, Smador waited in the shadows until he was sure she was alone, then he crept forward and joined her on the step. Madavi tried to open the wrapping, but found it too painful with her joints so stiff.

"Forgive me, Smador," she finally said. "Could you take your half, please? My hands are so sore."

"Whatcha been doin' up' 'ere?" he asked, taking the package and dividing the contents.

"Making bread," she replied. "A _lot_ of bread."

"How's'at done, then?" he said. He put her portion into her lap and began idly chewing on his half of the meat as he listened.

Madavi described the process for him, and was quite amused when he began examining his chunk of bread with new interest.

"All that, for this bit?" he said. "Seems like a lotta shit yuh ain't gettin' much from."

"I suppose you're right," she laughed. "But when it's freshly made, it tastes very good. What we get," she said, gesturing at the hard, stale bread from her ration, "isn't very fresh. So _now_ , it doesn't seem like all that effort was worthy of the end result."

"Most'uh the shit I do don't seem worth it," he growled in agreement. "Dig out a tunnel full'uh shit one day, gotta dig the same one out the next. Rats only make their nests in a different tunnel, so I keep bungin'em out every day. Feel like I oughta mark them rats so's I know whether I's bungin' the same ones every time."

"You don't... kill them?" she asked timidly. She would've expected an orc would slay the rodents indiscriminately. It's likely what a Man in Smador's position would do. They were pests and nuisances, and they spread diseases. A worse offense by far, to the Matron at any rate, was their tendency to break into the food stores and leave their droppings in the grain. Grain which invariably found its way down to the Orcish kitchens, the orcs likely none the wiser of the grain's spoiling, knowing the Matron.

Smador shook his head. "Nar, they's just livin', same as me. Kinda nice, sometimes, havin' company." He glanced at her and smiled a little sheepishly.

"It is," she agreed, returning his smile warmly.

"'Ere," he said, setting the food aside and taking one of her hands. "Let ol' Smador do somethin' fer yuh."

Curious, Madavi watched as he carefully stroked her hand, rubbing the pads of his clawed fingers along the sinews and down each finger. In short order, she felt relief from the cramped muscles and sore joints. Closing her eyes and smiling, she sighed.

"That feels very good, Smador," she murmured.

"Can't have the Matron takin' a switch to yuh," he replied softly. "She caught me at midday, waitin'. Thought Gurathogg seein' to the Lower kitchens was a right prick. Guess them rumors was true: yer Matron done taught'im his shit, and yuh ain't never so good at it as yer teacher." Snorting with amusement, he took up her other hand and repeated the treatment.

Flexing her free hand gratefully, she chuckled. "I'd heard that rumor myself." Her smile faded, and her brow pinched with apology. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to come, Smador. I just couldn't get away."

"Eh, ain'uh worry," he shrugged. "I got by, same as always."

"You didn't steal, did you?" she asked suspiciously.

Sighing, he looked at her with a touch of impatience. "Never mind it."

"I'm sorry," she muttered, chagrined. "Forget I said anything."

"I never forget nothin' you say," he replied. Madavi glanced up with surprise at his words, but he was grinning. "An' I know yuh don' like me stealin'. Ain' easy gettin' by down below 'less yuh do."

She nodded. He released her hand and she flexed that one as well. "Thank you for this," she said. "You're full of surprises."

"Don't just learn 'bout how to move shit around down there," he laughed.

"Of course not," she smiled. "Oh, I've something to show you." Madavi brought out her coins and laid them out on her palm. "Aren't they lovely?"

"Where'd yuh get'em?" Smador asked, his voice full of awe as he looked them over.

"I... I was picked today," she said as casually as she could. "The Man gave them to me... after."

"Picked, eh?" he nodded, glancing at her face. His brow furrowed slightly. "Yuh all right?"

"Yes," she said dismissively. "It wasn't... so bad, really."

"Hmph," he grunted, going back to the coins and turning one over to see the other side. "Got my first 'bout a week ago. Some skinny bit what's been 'round a few weeks, runnin' after the midwife. Didn' see much of'er 'fore; less now."

"Did it... was it all right?" she asked awkwardly, unsure if she should even be asking about such things. Still, she was curious. They seemed to have had similar experiences at nearly the same time.

Smador shrugged. "Guess so. Lookit this," he said, and pointed to a somewhat fresh bite mark on his shoulder. He straightened proudly, as though such a mark were something to boast of. "Can't've been so bad if she done this, eh?"

"Is that... a good thing?" Madavi asked with considerable alarm. It looked to be quite painful, actually.

"Yeah," he nodded. "She got a few tuh'member me by, too." Winking, he grinned.

Brow wrinkling with uncertainty, Madavi gave him a wan smile in return. Though they sometimes spoke of their differences, which never seemed so great, this biting business made her a bit uncomfortable. Smador's grin faded a little.

"Orcs don't go bitin' just anybody," he said, attempting to reassure her.

"Well, thankfully Men _don't_ bite," Madavi said, putting on a prim act to cover her discomfort and sitting up straight, smoothing her skirts.

"Don' know what they's missin'," he growled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, laughing.

"Here," she said, taking two of the coins and giving them over. "For my hands."

He blinked with surprise at the unexpected gift. "Any time, Madavi," he grinned.

* * *

The host of Men didn't stay in the fortress of Barad'dur long. Soon after they arrived, companies began forming and departing for the Gates again. Now the kitchen slaves' duties were tenfold: the Men leaving required great quantities of rations to sustain them on the march, while the remaining ones not yet assigned still needed their daily meals. The Upper kitchens were kept busy from well before the dawn to deep into the night, or what passed for such times now that the Master's storm of war had rolled thick clouds across the Plateau of Gorgoroth and beyond the Ephel Duath.

Those that remained didn't do so for long either. Each day, there were fewer Men in the barracks, and so fewer in the mess hall, yet the lighter load wasn't felt by the kitchen help. Madavi cut meat into strips while Pratima rubbed the strips with salt. Sima had long been a runner to the ovens to deliver the salted meat for drying; the Matron didn't approve of her knife skills for this task, and wouldn't promote her to cutter.

Travel rations were prepared in abundance, and the youngest children were employed in bundling four meals' worth in the cloth bags the Men would be given on their way out of Mordor.

Knowing they were off to war made the Men more active with the whores in the barracks as well as the girls in the kitchens. By week's end, when the last company marched away, Madavi and both her friends had a few more coins each to brag of. Madavi shared hers with Smador. She felt it was the least she could do, since he continued to attend to her hands so well. That was what one did with coins, she supposed: pay for things. Though the Orc regarded them as merely interesting little novelties, he accepted them all the same.

In another week, the rumors began trickling in. There was a great battle far away. Their Master's enemies seemed to have prevailed, though anyone caught spreading _that_ bit of news was gutted on the spot. One too many killings, however, confirmed the reports: the army that marched was defeated. The even greater host that remained behind was now moved closer to the Gates. The Mannish barracks all but emptied.

When Madavi asked Smador if he'd heard anything about the war or if they were in any danger, he just shrugged.

"All's I know is, there's less shit tuh clear," he told her. "Yuh don't get noticed if yuh don't ask no questions. I like tuh not get noticed."


	5. Chapter 4: Quaking

There was a lull for several days after the Men left. The mess hall returned to the hands of its regulars, laborers and trainers who'd been elbowed aside and forced to take their meals elsewhere while the soldiers were there. Madavi's duties shifted back to normal. It was hard to believe anything dire could be happening beyond the walls of the tower; all within was just as unchanged as ever.

Yet the rumors continued to filter in. Madavi frowned deeply when Sima told her many Uruks and the newer arrivals, Uruk-hai from the west, were fortifying the positions on the walls, and that there were more of them than she'd ever seen in one place.

"You'd think the Master was... well, _scared_ or something," she whispered.

"Mind your tongue!" Pratima hissed before Madavi had a chance to. Pratima glanced about the kitchen, looking for the Matron. Thankfully, the old crone was clear on the other end, whacking a young boy for dropping a bowl of peeled taters on the floor. Pratima sighed with relief. "Don't you _dare_ say such things out loud. You know better than that."

The girls were doing the peeling today, handling their knives deftly. Except for Sima, whose skills in that area were lacking. Her job was to slice the peeled taters and rinse them off, then put them in the bowls for the runners to take to the stewpot.

"It's just what I heard," Sima pouted, then sucked in a breath as she cut her finger for the third time.

"You should know better than to spread gossip," Madavi whispered urgently. Her brow pinched with worry. "Two girls yesterday. A boy and girl the day before. You'd better stop listening or you'll get killed, too."

"I've heard Master only calls for his Uruk guard when he's...," Sima began, and Pratima smacked her upside the head.

"You're bleeding all over the place, Sima!" Pratima snapped loudly. "Go bind that cut."

"Yuh stupid fool!" the Matron snarled behind them, grabbing the startled Sima by the scruff. "We ain't cookin' for the Orcs! Yuh wanna go down to _their_ kitchens, do yuh? You won't be stirrin' the pot; you'll be _fillin'_ it! Get that seen to 'fore you spoil the lot!" Shoving the girl away, the Matron brought the switch down across Sima's back, producing a pained yelp and a quicker step. Then she turned baleful eyes on Pratima and Madavi, both busying themselves a little more vigorously than before.

"You two better take up'er slack, now," the old woman hissed, "or it's all three of yuh for the pot." Then the Matron turned and stalked away.

Pratima exchanged a relieved look with Madavi. Had any of them been caught talking about Master or his guards, they would have been reprimanded with far worse than an idle threat.

* * *

"Real quiet, I suppose," Smador shrugged when Madavi asked about things below. "We's like you lot, see? Mushrooms, all'uh us."

"Mushrooms?" she asked with surprise. "How are we like mushrooms?" They'd finished their meal and were taking advantage of the generally relaxed mood the soldiers left in their wake. Smador leaned back with his elbows on the step.

"Kept in the dark, fed a load'uh shit," he replied. Glancing up at her with a twinkle in his eye, he waited for her to respond. Her tittering laugh brought a smile to his dark face.

"We've been hearing about Uruks guarding the walls around the tower," Madavi reported when she'd composed herself.

"Hearin' the same down below," Smador nodded. "Ain't seen'em myself. They don't come visitin' in the tunnels." He chuckled at the thought. "Nar, too good for that sorta thing. They's the sort what makes the shit, not cleans it up. What I hears is they makes a lot'uh shit." He mimed snapping something in two. "Come down fer breedin' now and again. Me mum's been knocked up by one'er two in her time."

"Goodness," Madavi said with alarm. "Are they rough with Orcs as well as Men?"

Snorting, Smador grimaced. "Don't care, that lot. Heard some things, see. We's warned. Don't go pickin' at the guard, 'specially them Black Uruks, so ol' Smador don't pick at'em. Ain't much of me, and they's _big_. Big and mean. I know better'n tuh stick my neck out."

Madavi couldn't help smiling. "Yet you risk a beating every day to share meals with me."

Grinning sheepishly, he bumped her shoulder with his. "You's different, Madavi. Don't ask nothin', don't expect nothin'. Ain't somethin' I get much of. Didn't think I'd ever call a Man friend, but if I did, I'd call'er Madavi."

"We have plenty of folks telling us both what to do," Madavi explained. "Friends don't make demands; they take care of each other." Sighing contentedly, she added, "I think of you as a friend, too, Smador."

His smile was genuinely pleased, but only lasted a moment. His brow furrowed suddenly and his ears pricked. "Whassat?" he hissed, listening intently.

It took another moment for Madavi to hear, and only because she could _feel_ that something wasn't right. There was a noticeable tremor in the stone steps upon which they sat.

"What's happening?" she whispered fearfully, looking around the dim storeroom. Bags of flour toppled from shaking crates and split open on the floor. Extra pots and pans began sliding off the shelves. The noise they made, clattering on the stone, nearly drowned out the other sound that Smador's keen ears picked up before hers did: there was an inhuman, wailing cry from far above in the tower, growing in volume and strength.

The two of them stared at each other in rising panic; both knew something bad had happened, but Madavi had no idea what it could be. Smador, however, had a most uncomfortable look. His face contorted with something that didn't seem to be simple pain. Whatever ailed him went far deeper than that.

"Get on outta here," Smador finally said, leaping to his feet. He pulled Madavi up and pushed her up the stairs. "Go on."

At first, her shock kept her from protesting, then she shook herself and resisted. "No! What about you?"

"Don't mind me," he said quickly. "There's ways outta this place; I knows'em all. You get on out with yer folk. Shit's comin', and it ain't gonna wanna see _me_. It might be friendlier tuh you."

Madavi wavered with indecision. That anyone would hurt her friend was beyond her comprehension. She feared she'd never see him again if she left him now.

"Smador...," she whimpered.

" _Go on!_ " he snarled. "Think I _wanna_ be worryin' 'bout yuh? Yer folk'll see yuh safe out. Git goin', now."

Throwing her arms about his neck, she sobbed with fear and grief, "You be careful. I don't want to worry about you, either."

"Don't... don't mind me," he growled hoarsely, awkwardly patting her back. She'd never embraced him before, and he seemed unsure how to respond. "Ol' Smador knows the way."

* * *

The halls were chaos. Slaves from all over the main tower were pushing and shoving their way out. The wailing ended moments after she left the storeroom, though it wasn't easily noticed in the din of screaming, panicked people. Madavi was caught up in the tide and struggled to stay on her feet. Some weren't so lucky; she could feel the stone floor give way to softer lumps as those who lost their balance were trampled.

She barely noticed how hard the tower was shaking.

The last hall led to a broad double door standing wide open. Wave after wave of slaves poured through at a dead run. As Madavi burst into the courtyard, she saw what looked like huge boulders of carved masonry littered about. Even as she wondered where they came from, another chunk broke off the main tower and plummeted into their midst. It was so large, it crushed an elaborately garbed woman from Upstairs and two slaves from the lower levels beneath it.

Madavi dodged past the obstacle without letting herself dwell on who the slaves might have been. The sound of the tower crumbling behind her was deafening; she didn't dare look back. Focusing on the wall around the towers of Barad'dûr, she made for them with all speed. A great horde of people was already piling up there, trying to open the gates.

Slowing to a trot, she embraced reason and didn't let herself get caught in the scrum at the gates. Aching from a stitch, she slowly turned, rubbing her cramped side. It had been a long time – months, perhaps – since she'd set foot outside. Her duties simply didn't require her to do so. But she knew what the tower looked like. It was not something you forgot once you'd seen it.

As she stood there staring at the tallest and most menacing structure she'd ever seen, the topmost spires slowly collapsed onto the ones below. She watched in horrified fascination as the once-great tower crumbled, sending up plumes of smoke and dust into the black-clouded sky. Billowing waves of dust erupted from the ground where the debris fell, stinging the eyes and choking the lungs. Her numb legs moved slowly in retreat; she could not seem to run away, even to save herself.

"Madavi!" a voice screamed, high-pitched with terror. Tearing herself from the appalling sight, Madavi spun around, searching for the one calling her. As she turned, she recognized what must be a group of _snaga_ Orcs going pell-mell on all fours, aiming for another breach in the wall made by the toppled eastern tower. The smoke and dust made seeing difficult; she only knew them as Orcs rather than Men by the way they moved. She couldn't be sure, but she fancied she could see Smador's particular shock of black hair among them, though from this distance and in the dusty air, they all looked exactly alike.

 _Don't be a fool_ , she told herself in despair. _He's just as likely to be beneath the tower still._

A hand on her arm distracted her from tears she didn't know were forming. In another heartbeat, she was in Pratima's embrace.

"Come along with us," the girl told her, urging Madavi to follow. They held hands tightly; the gates had been broken open and the slaves were streaming out. They feared being separated.

"Where's Sima?" Madavi asked anxiously as they joined the crowd sprinting out of the courtyard.

Pratima bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen her. I don't think..." She glanced over her shoulder, then squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "I don't think she came out."

Madavi could only nod her understanding. The folk around them were mostly kitchen staff; the young boys and girls who did all the hard work of preparing and cleaning. She couldn't see their Matron, but she recognized older people who saw to the rooms upstairs or laundered the clothes for important guests. A good many men and women from the barracks were with them as well.

Her mind was numb, and she couldn't count them all. She didn't know where they were going, and didn't ask. She clung to Pratima's hand with all her might, determined not to lose _this_ friend.

* * *

Hundreds of slaves who survived the collapse of Barad'dur camped for the night in the open on the Plateau of Gorgoroth, but their stay wasn't long. They soon realized that whatever terrible fate befell their lord and master had caused the mountain of Orodruin to erupt as well. Lava floes crept across the land with unstoppable determination; the fleeing slaves had no choice but to race for the Towers of the Teeth in hopes of finding refuge there.

What they found instead was mass destruction on a scale they couldn't fathom. The Towers had collapsed; the great gates of the Morannon lay in ruins. The field was littered with many dead, and the enemy host was still there collecting their own fallen from among the master's forces.

By now, the slaves were exhausted and hungry, ready to trade their defeated master for another. Madavi huddled in the crowd with Pratima at her side, barely able to hear what was being said at the front. Incredulous whispers began filtering back, the most shocking of which was that they were _free_.

" _What_ did you say?" was the question most often asked, followed by "What does 'free' mean?" None knew; all of them, from the whimpering children sucking their thumbs to the aged crones barely able to stand, had only known a life of service to their master. Madavi wasn't even sure she'd _ever_ heard the word before now.

More words were spoken, and more information passed back. A king was telling them these things. A king from a land west of Mordor she'd never heard of. What he said was quite baffling.

"He's giving us Nûrn?" Pratima repeated without comprehension. She exchanged a look with Madavi; that was far to the south, a place they'd never seen. All they knew of it was that many Orcs came from there, and slaves now farmed the land in service to their master. It certainly wasn't something this stranger could _give_. Laughing bitterly, she scoffed, "Who does he think he is?"

"He's the one what's givin' us somethin' that ain't his," an older boy informed them. He snickered. "Don't expect he'll be too happy about what they're tellin' him up there. Nûrn's here in Mordor. Some of'em ain't interested."

Madavi grimaced at the blasted landscape and fume-choked skies. She didn't think being 'gifted' with land such as this was a very kind thing to offer.

"King what's-his-face up'ere says we can leave Mordor entire if we want," another man reported. His face was lined with toil and grimed with dust from the tower's fall. "Go west and settle our own place, or help rebuild what's been wrecked." The man's brow furrowed. "He don't say so, but... I suppose it were our master's doin'. Oughta... oughta do summat 'bout that."

Nodding quickly, Madavi agreed. "Yes, it's only fair. We should. Does he say who will take us? What lord we will serve?"

Her questions were relayed to the front. Madavi fretted as she waited for an answer. Pratima shifted nervously from foot to foot, chewing her lip.

The answer confounded all of them. The man's brow was deeply furrowed. "Ain't no master for us no more, he says. Keeps sayin' we're _free_. Know what that means?"

Everyone around him shook their heads.

"Anyway, he says there's farmland needin' worked on," the man continued with a shrug. "Livestock gotta be gathered back up. Homes rebuilt. Says anything we can manage, our help'll be welcome."

It was generally agreed among several groups of surviving slaves that they would strike out into the rich lands called Gondor and see what of their master's destruction they could undo, because it was only fair. The rest chose to accept the king's offer and head south to Nûrn to join the slaves already there tilling the land. A number of soldiers accompanied them, in case their overseers were unaware of the shift in power that just occurred.

Madavi and Pratima joined those leaving Mordor; they suspected only time would tell whether they'd made the right decision. As they passed the ruins of the only home she'd ever known, Madavi blinked back tears and tried not to think about her lost friend.


	6. Chapter 5: Settling

Madavi was overwhelmed; she literally walked out of a land of ash and smoke, with black silt and black rocks as far as the eye could see beneath a sky choked with roiling black clouds, into one of grassy earth and blue skies. Every tree was budding with new life; the black soil beyond the influence of her defeated master gradually faded into brown, then erupted in bright greens. Here and there were patches of color, and so vibrantly did they shine! Delicately shaped, brightly-colored things the Ithilien Men called 'flowers' pocked the grasslands of North Ithilien.

She would always remember her wonder at such unexpected beauty, and the sadness in the Rangers' eyes, watching the slaves behold a thriving land for the first time in their lives.

The Southern Rangers guided Madavi, Pratima, and their fellows into the lands just west of the Ephel Duath. So soon after the War's end, there wasn't much work available, for the people had yet to return. The Rangers called Madavi's folk Mûlrim, a term she'd never heard before. In Mordor, they were _snaga_. She wasn't sure she liked the new word, though it seemed to mean the same thing. She overheard some corrupting the word into Mule, which she liked even less.

It saddened the Mûlrim when they encountered burned out settlements and ruined villages, hallmarks of their master's campaign against the Men of Gondor. Yet they all took careful note of these places, memorizing every tree and rock, and the shape of the eastern mountains when standing in the middle of the ruins. One day soon, the people would come back, and the Mûlrim would be there to help them.

After more than a week of weary travel on foot, the freed slaves found themselves in a place called Osgiliath. It was here, they were told, that terrible things happened, though they needed no telling. The stonework was crumbled, the buildings roofless. The streets were littered with Orcish dead. The men were immediately detailed to gather the corpses for burning, while the women were given shovels and sent to clear debris from the houses and streets. The youngest were deployed with buckets and baskets to take the sweepings away.

Madavi and Pratima, being older yet not quite strong enough to wield shovels, joined the youngest in their task. Neither minded the work; they were _doing_ something. The folk of Gondor had not returned to this city yet; Madavi felt that she was preparing an especially large room for a very important guest. What was strange was that each day, she and her fellows were given coins for their labor.

These were not the same sort of coins she'd gotten from the Mamlakah men. Those had been copper; these given by the Gondoran men were silver. She asked one of the men who oversaw their work whether her coppers were of any use here, and he shook his head, indicating they bore no value. Yet she kept them as a reminder.

By summer's end, Madavi and Pratima decided to join a small handful of Mûlrim looking to leave Osgiliath and strike out for those villages and farms they'd seen on the way from Mordor. The journey to the city whetted their appetites for the forests and grasslands; they wanted to feel good, honest soil beneath their feet, not cobblestones. The girls were of like mind, and joined the group.

The harvest season saw the small band of Mûlrim traveling from one farm or village to another, seeking some manner of work. There were few enough of them, numbering less than a dozen, that most villages could find work for them all. Madavi and Pratima spent most of their time cooking, for that was their strength, but both were sometimes employed in the fields when their wanderings brought them to a farm that was lucky enough to get a crop planted back in the spring.

While they were helping many people, Madavi was not happy. She wanted to settle. Staying in one place, knowing what her next duty was, understanding the way of things... she was comforted by routines. All this travel, with each day different from the last, never knowing if they would be welcomed or sent off by frightened homesteaders too afraid to trust anyone they didn't know...

And everywhere she went, she looked for some sign of her friend. Listened for even a rumor. No one spoke of Orcs except to curse them. She learned quickly not to ask.

* * *

Madavi's wish was granted at the end of the harvest season in the form of a once-grand homestead getting itself back in shape for the coming spring. There was much work to be done: the pens were torn down, livestock slaughtered or scattered, croplands flattened, buildings burned. The ten Mûlrim were, according to the Matron of the household, Inglenn, a godsend. A village was nearby, but the Men of Ithilien demanded too high a wage, and so Inglenn would have been forced to spend a good deal more of the family's carefully managed savings to hire them. The Mûlrim were not nearly so expensive.

Madavi looked upon her day's earnings by candlelight in her small room shared with Pratima. She'd counted three turnings of the full moon since they'd come here, and snow was upon the ground. The man and woman who owned the farm were kinder than some she'd met along the way, though Himdol often glared at the Mûlrim and would not speak with any of them. But then, he had fought against her master; she could forgive his discontent.

Inglenn was a practical woman, and one Madavi took to right away. She often joined Madavi in the kitchen to prepare the evening meals, for all the workers and the family were fed at once. While this was not nearly as great a number as Madavi was accustomed to serving, it was more than she could manage alone. They talked often, and Madavi learned a great deal that caused her confusion, not the least of which was that some of those in the nearby village were resentful of the work being done by the Mûlrim. Though Inglenn assured her that her work was more than satisfactory and very appreciated, Madavi still wondered why she and her folk were being accused of 'stealing' by people she'd never met.

There was also the unfamiliar lament sometimes voiced by Inglenn with a sad voice, of how Himdol had 'changed,' that he was not the same man she had married. Then she would chuckle and brush it off, saying she hardly remembered that man as it was, for he'd been away for a year fighting in the war and seeing to their land's security afterwards. Madavi was not familiar with anything she was speaking of, and simply nodded or shook her head, pretending understanding.

Pratima had her hands full with the couple's young son, a terror worthy of an Orcling with all the mischief he got up to. Madavi suspected little Torthor had developed an affection for his new governess, thus causing Pratima no end of grief. The teasing of young, infatuated boys was something Madavi _did_ understand.

The worst trial by far was dealing with their daughter, Seriladu. Seri was Madavi's age, but ever so haughty. She simply refused to call the girl by her right name, preferring to order Madavi about with a 'Mule this' and 'Mule that,' though never within hearing of her mother. Perhaps it wasn't a switch across Madavi's back, but it hurt all the same. Even after a year of this 'freedom' business, it stung being treated as though she had no feelings, like the mule her folk were called after. Little better than livestock, and as easily discarded.

Spring came, and with it the need for all of the household's workers to clear the field for planting. Bundled in her warmest dress and a thick coat, Madavi joined the others in hoeing the rows free of enroaching weeds and breaking up the hard ground. It was hard work, and kept the Mûlrim on their feet with backs bent from sun up to sun down. After a punishing day in the rows, Madavi still tended to the evening meal, though Inglenn thoughtfully cut up the vegetables and sliced the meat ahead of time.

While gripping the handle of the stirring stick, switching from one hand to another as she tired, Madavi thought wistfully of Smador and his gentle fingers. How she longed for his treatment to carry her through these harsh tasks. Yet he was likely crushed beneath the Tower, like so many others. She couldn't allow herself to hope too much that he escaped with the other Orcs she'd seen.

"Madavi, dear," Inglenn said with concern, and Madavi started. "Are you well?"

"Yes'm," the girl nodded quickly, returning her attention to the great stewpot. Madavi stepped up the stirring; had the Matron back in Barad'dur caught her daydreaming, she'd have the switch out.

"You seem sad," her new Matron observed. "Here. Dry your eyes." She offered a handkerchief, and took over the stirring. Madavi, bewildered, did as she was told.

"Your folk did well in the field today," Inglenn said conversationally. "We should be able to plant the first seeds in a day or so, if the weather holds." She glanced at Madavi. "I know it's been hard. I truly appreciate your work. It isn't like the kitchen, yet you did your share without complaint."

"Yes'm," Madavi replied, unsure what else to say. She rarely had to speak in any case; Inglenn did enough for them both.

"You've not... said much," Inglenn ventured. "But it must have been... a hard life. Where you came from." Laughing a little, she said, "Of course it was. And well put behind you, I've no doubt. Forgive me even bringing it up."

"I suppose... it wasn't... _so_ bad," Madavi said in a small voice, attempting to reassure the woman.

"When I think of a young maid like yourself, in amongst the sort of folk who took up with the Enemy...," Inglenn said, anger firming her voice. "I think of my darling Seri, and what it might have done to her." She glanced sympathetically at Madavi. "You must have been in a part of... that place where few truly despicable people congregated, to come out so kind and polite." She smiled and shook her head with wonder. "Certainly never in the company of Orcs."

Madavi frowned. "Well... I knew several...," she began, but the look of shock on the woman's face made her stop. "That is to say... I knew of them. None... personally..." She winced, feeling as though she'd just betrayed Smador with such a lie. She bowed her head and bit her lip.

"There now," Inglenn said, patting Madavi's shoulder. "It's all in the past now. Forgive me. I should not be so curious about things that cause you pain. Pratima is just so... well, she said you two worked in that cursed tower itself, and I simply couldn't believe it." Smiling as kindly as she could, she added, "It is no matter. Here; keep stirring another few minutes. I'll set the table."

Handing the stirring stick back to Madavi, Inglenn took her leave, and so didn't see the girl dissolve in tears as she slowly stirred the pot.

* * *

Spring faded into summer, and found Madavi once more in the field with her fellow Mûlrim. The wheat was growing well, but weeds were coming back in earnest. Bent over the rows in a short-sleeved tunic and long skirt, her head covered by her faded scarf, and a burlap sack over one shoulder, Madavi worked her way up one row and down another. Sweat stood out on her forehead and stained the back of her shirt. Ahead of her was a small stand of trees; she gazed longingly at the shade they provided, and the rest she would take there once she finished this row.

Her mind was on the day before, when she'd unexpectedly stumbled upon Himdol in one of the outbuildings, a bottle of something in his hand. He'd chased her off with a barked command, but she could tell he'd been close to tears when she found him. Had he lost friends in the war as well? Quite likely. Her own losses still weighed heavily upon her; not just Smador, but Sima as well. It troubled her that in all this time since they'd escaped the Tower, she only just now gave thought to the girl. Her worries had always been for Smador's fate.

Finally, the row ended beneath the largest of the clutch of trees, and she gratefully dropped her sack. Sitting down, she removed her worn shoes and curled her toes in the warm dirt. Leaning back against the trunk, she sighed with relief. A cool breeze wafted by, ruffling her kerchief and the wisps of hair peeking out. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"'At's gotta be my Madavi," a growling, rasping voice sounded quietly from above. Madavi started and made a small cry of surprise, then looked up.

In amongst the branches of the tree, well-hidden in the foliage, was a face she never thought, yet desperately hoped, she'd see once more.

"Smador!" she cried, leaping to her feet and gazing up at him.

"Not so loud!" he hissed, looking past her toward the other workers. "Ain't safe 'ere. Not fer me."

Swallowing her excitement, Madavi hastily sat back down and tried to act normally while inside her stomach was fluttering like a mad butterfly. He was alive! Her dear friend, spared the destruction and death of that day! So close she could almost touch him...

"Where have you been?" she asked in as calm a voice as she could muster. "I want to know everything. I've missed you very much."

"Been runnin', mostly," he said quietly. "Took up with them Orcs I run out with, but they didn't know how tuh stay outta the way of Men." He chuckled bitterly. "Ain't so good at runnin' as ol' Smador, neither."

"I've heard very little," Madavi supplied, "about Orcs. Nothing good, anyway. I wish... I wish Men got on better with your folk here. It doesn't seem to be like it was in Mordor."

"It ain't," he replied. "Gettin' so's I can't go a minute without watchin' my back. There's Men what take up with Orcs, but they ain't the kind I'd wanna be 'round."

"Maybe... maybe I could talk to the lady of this house," Madavi suggested. "We could use another worker in the field. I'm sure if I spoke for you..."

"Nar, don' do that," Smador interrupted. "Don't tell'er nothin' 'bout me. Get yerself in trouble with that kinda talk."

"But... Smador, you've not done anyone any harm," she protested. "You're my _friend_."

"What I done 'er not done since the Fall ain't yer concern," he said tightly, and she glanced up at his thin face. "Don't you worry 'bout ol' Smador."

"Are you... hungry?" she whispered, her brow furrowing.

He hesitated for a moment, and she could tell it was hard for him to admit it. After a few false starts, he finally confessed, "Yeah. Starvin'. Ain't... ain't safe tuh hunt no more, what with them Rangers round, killin' anything that don't look like one'uh them. Anybody I find, they chase me off cause... cause I'm just a ratty li'l Goblin and... ain't nobody wants one'uh my kind 'round. Ain't so good in a fight, and that's all they's wantin' tuh do..."

"Smador," she said gently, "am I still your friend?"

"Ain't sure," he replied. "You's free, now. Don't... don't _havetuh_ be friends with someone like me."

"I never _had_ to be your friend," Madavi said. "I just was. And I still am. You come here again tomorrow, and I'll share my meal with you like I've always done. Because I'm your friend. And I am... I am so terribly glad to see you again."

"Yeah," he agreed, and she could hear a bit of relief in his voice. Perhaps something stronger, for his voice was not quite as steady as it used to be. "'M glad tuh see you, too."


	7. Chapter 6: Frightening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "Tag Team" by Helenamarkos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/helenamarkos/10497422634/in/set-72157633048803334/

It was not so easy as it was in Barad'dûr, for Madavi to take her mid-day meal elsewhere than the dining table. Inglenn insisted on the family breaking bread together, and since Madavi and Pratima worked in the house proper, the girls were expected to attend.

Madavi sat nervously, picking at her roasted potato. Just yesterday, she'd promised to bring Smador something to eat today, yet she wasn't quite sure how to manage it. She felt strongly that if she took any food beyond what she was given, it would be stealing. But what little she'd seen of Smador told her he was terribly thin; worse than when she'd first met him.

Was it less wrong if the theft was to feed a starving friend? Madavi wasn't sure, and chewed her lip in agitation.

After she and Pratima cleared the table, and the two were elbow deep in the sink doing the washing up, her friend leaned close and whispered, "What's the matter?"

Darting her eyes about, Madavi breathed quietly, "I am so... so afraid and... I don't know what to do."

The elder girl's brow creased with worry and she paused her scrubbing. "What has happened?"

Agonizing over whether to tell Pratima, known in the kitchens as Prattling Pratima, Madavi fell silent and furiously scrubbed as though the specter of the Matron were looming over her.

"If it's that horrid boy leaving garden snakes in your bed," Pratima suggested, "do as I do and chuck them into his. Though I'm sure the poor things are terrorized by all the back and forth nonsense." She stifled an amused giggle. "Just the other day he thought to frighten me with a mouse! Honestly! I have seen Orcs break limbs if someone so much as bumped into them, and he thinks a _mouse_ will send me into a tizzy?"

A slightly relieved laugh escaped Madavi. Truly, they'd seen their fair share of awful things. Mice and snakes were little matter by comparison.

Mention of their time in Barad'dûr strengthened her resolve, and Madavi ventured cautiously, "Do you remember... when we were there... the Orc I used to see in the cellar?"

"Oh yes, him," Pratima replied. "The one you talked with about boring things." She chuckled. "We knew you were giving him half your rations, Sima and I. We didn't say anything to the Matron."

"Thank you," Madavi said, taken aback. "How did you know?"

Pratima shrugged. "Matron would go on and on about the thieving little rats from the lower kitchens getting into her stores, remember? Then she stopped. I thought she'd found something else to complain about, but then you said you met him every day about mealtime. We're not _that_ stupid, you know." Yet she softened her words with a winking smile. "I'm surprised you remember him."

"You also," Madavi said, smiling uncertainly. "Pratima... I have a... a secret."

Her friend looked at her with concern. "You're not with child, are you?"

Startled completely, Madavi blinked stupidly at Pratima. "No! Of course not!"

"Good," Pratima nodded. "I don't think these folks would be quite as... understanding about such things as they were back in the Tower." Narrowing her eyes shrewdly, she asked, "Himdol's not carrying on with you, is he?"

"No one is 'carrying on' with me!" Madavi hissed. "It isn't... that sort of secret."

"Well, _what_ , then?" Pratima asked with exasperation.

Lowering her voice to barely a whisper, Madavi said, "He's here."

Pratima matched her timbre. "Who's here?"

"Smador."

Her friend stared at her blankly. "Who's Smador?"

"The _Orc_ ," Madavi clarified, once more flicking her gaze around the kitchen to make sure no one else was nearby.

"Where? In the barn?" Pratima asked incredulously.

"No, in the back field," Madavi told her, feeling quite relieved to have someone to talk to about this. "At least he was yesterday. He's starving, Pratima. I promised to bring him food, but I don't know how. It wouldn't be right to sneak anything from the larder. I don't know what to do."

Pratima reached out and took hold of Madavi's soapy hands with her own. "You can't let him come near the house, do you understand? Himdol was in the war and killed a lot of them. If he saw him..."

Madavi nodded vigorously. "I know. He says he's been on the run since the Fall. I can't tell you how glad I was to see him alive, but I'm so worried for him. I want to help him. Can you... is there anything you can do to help me?"

"Here, now," Pratima said firmly, fetching a towel and dabbing at Madavi's cheeks where tears were falling. "This isn't like when the Matron was on watch, keeping tallies and spying on every move we made. Just act like you know what you're about and nobody will think a thing of it. Get him a little meat and some bread. I'll make sure nobody notices."

"Thank you," Madavi whispered, gripping her friend's hands tightly. "I will never forget this."

* * *

Though the acquisition of a bread loaf and strip of pork wasn't nearly as difficult as she'd thought it would be, attempting to carry her burden through the wheat field without being noticed was impossible.

One after another, Mûlrim out plucking weeds looked up and nodded or hailed her in greeting. She would have preferred not to be marked at all. At least she'd had the presence of mind to bring her burlap sack, as though she simply intended to continue the weeding where she'd left off the day before.

Returning to the large tree, she nervously sat down and fidgeted, wondering if he was there already or if she'd see him slinking through the rows to reach her.

"'S'at pork I smells?" his familiar voice sounded, and Madavi's breath came out in a rush of relief.

"Yes, it is!" she replied with a grin. "Here..." She clumsily unwrapped her bundle and handed the meat up. His long, thin arm dangled down to accept it, but he didn't show any other part of himself. She could barely see his face through the leaves.

"Mmm," he groaned, savoring what was likely the first decent meal he'd had in some time. Madavi held the bread for him, a smile of pleasure on her face. Soon his hand came down again, and she gave him the bread as well.

Allowing him to eat in peace, Madavi hugged her knees and couldn't stop grinning.

When he'd eaten his fill, they talked. He told her he'd been looking for an Orc clan when he saw this farm, and thought he'd find out if they had any chickens he could pilfer. Then he saw her headscarf out in the rows.

"Couldn't believe it," he recalled. "Didn't think I'd see another one'uh them head thingummies like yers, so it _must_ be you."

"I'm so glad you came to see if it was me," Madavi beamed. "I've often thought about you. Wondering what became of you."

He chuckled low. "Didn't think you'd remember me. I's just a shit-shoveller what et all yer food. Yuh got better folk here. Ain't thinkin' they's mixin' with folk like me."

"No, I suppose they don't," Madavi frowned. "Himdol, the master here, fought in the war."

"Hmph," Smador grunted darkly. "War ain't over fer some'uh us."

"I wonder if it isn't quite over for him, either," she murmured.

"How's'at?"

"He laments the friends he lost, I think," Madavi mused. "I understand; I thought I'd lost _you_. And of course, Sima." Laughing a little, she said, "It's funny. I was more upset about you than her."

"I ain't so easy tuh ferget, I guess," he chuckled.

"No, you're not," she agreed, laughing more easily.

"Still got them coins yuh give me," he ventured. "Keep'em close."

"So do I," Madavi replied. "It wasn't... a terribly bad place, was it?" she asked uncertainly. "To hear folk talk of Mordor... the tower... our master... I think they expect me to be... a bad person, because I was there."

"You ain't a bad person, Madavi," Smador insisted. "I like yuh fine, but... maybe them up at the house don't much care what I thinks."

"I imagine they don't," she nodded, "but _I_ do."

"At's all 'at matters tuh me," he replied softly.

"Me too. And I like you as well, Smador."

"Good," he smiled.

* * *

"Why can't I ride with da?" Torthor whined. "I don't wanna sit in the back with all them _girls_."

"Do as you're told," Himdol snapped brusquely as he tightened the cinch on his horse's saddle with quick jerks. "Get in the wagon or I'll take a switch to your backside."

Glowering at both his parents, the eight-year-old shuffled to the wagon, kicking up dust along the way. Inglenn watched his progress with a stern expression, then swung up on the buckboard and gathered the reins. Himdol mounted his horse, clucked his tongue, and urged the animal into a trot. Inglenn twitched the reins, and the draft horses plodded forward.

Madavi had never ridden in a wagon before and clutched the side nervously. Though they were secured in amongst the bags of grain from the early harvest, she still felt a little unsteady. Each time someone climbed aboard, the entire contraption swayed and dipped enough to make one nauseous.

"Budge up, Mule," Seri hissed under her breath. Madavi obligingly squeezed closer to the sidewall, though she truly had nowhere to go. The other girl smoothed out her skirts and laid them flat over the bags, taking up far more room than was strictly necessary.

Glancing over, Madavi met Pratima's eyes and almost giggled at her friend's eye roll. Pratima didn't get on well with their master's daughter either, but was wise enough to keep her opinions to herself... and Madavi. Late at night they huddled under a blanket, giggling about their new masters' spoiled daughter and the silly pranks Torthor pulled.

As the wagon began to roll away from the homestead, Madavi was torn between her excitement at finally visiting the village, and her worry for Smador. She'd told him she would be gone most of the day, and he'd simply shrugged, saying he'd 'get by.'

He was filling out again, putting on pounds with her careful tending. He hadn't spoken of looking for an Orc clan for the past few weeks. She dared hope he'd stay near, so she'd know he was safe. She'd asked him where he was spending all his time, worried he wasn't warm enough at night for fall was coming on and the nights were getting longer and colder. He just waved her worries away.

"Don't'chou worry 'bout me, now," he'd said dismissively. "Orcs is good in the cold. Don't bother us none."

Nevertheless, she'd secured a ragged blanket lying at the back of a wardrobe and hopefully long-forgotten, bringing it to him that morning while the family was busy with morning chores. He'd given her the oddest look through those reddening leaves, but accepted the blanket all the same.

"What do you think you'll buy with your money?" Seri asked, and Madavi started from her thoughts.

"I... I suppose I don't know," Madavi replied uncertainly. "I don't... really need anything."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Why would you care what you _need_?" she snapped. "What do you _want_?"

Madavi could think of only a few things she wanted, but none of them could be bought with coins. "I don't know," she said instead, feeling that it was too personal a question to answer.

"Impossible," Seri huffed. "Like a _mule_ ," she added, pulling a face.

Frowning and ducking her head, Madavi turned away, watching the road roll past behind them.

"I know what _you'll_ be buyin'," Torthor broke in with an impish grin. "Them stinky oils, is what. Make you all girl-stinky so Dolrodh and Canglad fight over yuh." He broke into a fit of mocking giggles as his sister fumed.

"Shut your mouth!" she cried, her face reddening and contorting unbecomingly.

Pratima coughed, and Madavi glanced over in time to see her friend doing her best to stifle a snicker.

" _And_ you, you smelly little prig!" Seri barked at Pratima, evidently just as observant as Madavi. Pratima sobered immediately.

A loud thud sounded, and all of them whirled at the sound. Himdol was just replacing his foot in the stirrup, having kicked the side of the wagon in passing. "Manners, Seri," he growled, then cantered ahead again.

When she was certain her father was too far off to hear, she glared at Pratima and hissed, "Stupid mule."

"Painted whore," Pratima daringly hissed back, her glare just as hot. Madavi's hand leaped to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock at her friend's risky move. She looked at Seri to gauge how much damage that sassy retort had done.

Seri, surprisingly, looked quite smug. "You would know, wouldn't you? Is that what you were used for in that tower?"

Pratima was so furious she began to shake. Madavi didn't know what to do, what to say. Insulting the master's favorites never ended well in the tower; with only that model to work from, she assumed Pratima's rashness would be the death of her.

"Pratima!" she hissed, darting her eyes between her friend and Seri. "Say you're sorry! Please!"

"Ma, what's a whore?" Torthor asked loudly. Madavi, Pratima, and Seri alike froze in terror.

Inglenn was so startled by the unexpected question that she hauled back on the reins with all her might. The horses neighed a protest, but halted so suddenly the wagon lurched forward, striking their back legs.

Then they bolted.

Because she was closest to the back of the wagon, Pratima was thrown clear out when it jerked forward. Madavi was sent sprawling across the bags, barely keeping herself from following her friend. Seri slid several feet on her backside before her splayed legs could anchor her against the wagon's side; her skirts hiked up almost to her waist.

"Yee-haw!" shouted Torthor, hanging on to the buckboard and crowing with delight.

"Himdol! Help me!" Inglenn cried, trying in vain to rein in the horses, now in full gallop. Himdol's steed thundered ahead to the lead horse, and the man grabbed the bridle firmly. A grim set to his mouth, he eased his own horse's speed, gradually slowing the spooked horses to a stop.

"What happened here?" he barked angrily, wheeling around and trotting back to his wife. The winded draft horses hung their heads and huffed great breaths.

"Your son...," Inglenn began, then stopped. "It's not important. I'm sorry." Turning, she was about to ask how the children fared when Madavi screamed.

"Pratima!" Struggling with her skirts, she clumsily shimmied out of the wagon, falling face down in the dirt, then righted herself and ran to the prone figure thirty yards behind. All manner of terrors flitted through her mind – broken children 'sent away' when they were too hurt to work being chief among them – as she ran. She all but collapsed on her knees at her friend's side, eyes so blurred with tears she almost missed the fluttering of Pratima's eyelids.

"Oh, Pratima!" Madavi sobbed, gathering her friend in her arms. "Please say you're all right. Please!"

"Serves the mule right," Seri snapped disdainfully. Turning to her mother, she complained, "She called me a _whore,_ mama!" Glancing back, she sneered, "What do you expect from..."

A stinging slap silenced the girl, and all looked with shocked surprise at Madavi. "Don't you call her that," Madavi cried, her voice shaking hard with furious sorrow. "Don't you _dare_ call her that!"

"She'll be all right," Himdol said tightly as he knelt on one knee beside the girl. "Just a conk on the head." To Madavi's surprise, he gently stroked Pratima's hair as the girl stirred, then helped her sit up. He leveled an angry glare at Seri. "Get in the wagon. _Now._ "

"But she said...," Seri protested, her hand still pressed to her hurt cheek.

"Shall I be the one to slap you next?" her father barked, swiftly rising to his feet. "Get in the damned wagon!" Seri burst into tears and fled.

"Himdol, don't speak to her...," Inglenn began, but her husband cut her off.

"You have let her become an insolent, spoiled child," Himdol growled. "I was not gone so long that everything I taught her should be forgot..."

"You were gone long enough!" his wife cried, then lowered her voice. "You can't know what we went through..."

"Of course I can't," he snapped. "You've never _told_ me." Taking a deep breath to calm his temper, Himdol closed his eyes for a moment. "Get in the wagon. We'll be late getting our business done as it is."

An uncomfortable silence stretched for several moments between them, their eyes locked and jaws clenched. Madavi didn't know what to think as she helped Pratima limp to the wagon.

"Thank you, Madavi," Pratima murmured.

"Here, let's get you inside," Madavi said solicitously, giving the woozy girl a hand up. As she climbed into the wagon behind Pratima, Madavi glanced up and met Seri's furious gaze.

"Bitch," Seri hissed under her breath.

* * *

They rode in awkward silence for another hour before the village came into view. Madavi couldn't muster any excitement about it; having Seri's malevolent glower fixed on her back for miles had thoroughly drained her enthusiasm. She couldn't even speak with Pratima, who in spite of swearing she was fine, still worried her forehead as though she had an ache.

Once in the square, the girls climbed out the back and went their separate ways; Seri to whatever shops were still open, and Madavi and Pratima to a small flower garden sporting the last of the summer blooms in the center of the village. Torthor stayed with his parents and accompanied them to the grainary to sell their wheat.

"How do you feel?" Madavi asked, holding Pratima's hands.

"Very much like I just sassed the Matron," Pratima replied with a wry smile. "I hope we don't stay here long; I'd like to lie down."

"You can lie down here," Madavi offered, helping her friend kneel on the well-trodden grass next to the flowerbed. "Put your head down on my lap."

"Madavi," Pratima said in a slightly scolding manner, "you should be shopping. You were looking forward to this trip. Go buy something. Something for your friend, if you like. You don't have to bother with me."

Looking about her, Madavi took in the sights and sounds of the village. People strolled about in the late afternoon, chatting and laughing. Children played chasing games in and out of the alleyways between the shops. The sun was bright, the sky cloudless, the air crisp with early fall. She drew a deep breath of the smells of new wood, horses, and numerous meals being prepared as the dinner hour approached, then let out a wistful sigh.

She shook her head and smiled. "There will be other trips, I'm sure. You lie down and rest."

Sighing, Pratima did as she was told. "Don't worry."

Frowning, Madavi glanced down at her friend's face. "Worry about what?"

"I don't think you'll get in particular trouble for hitting the rotten little wench," Pratima reassured her, then they both burst into giggles.

* * *

The wheat was sold, supplies were purchased, his son and wife were present, as were the Mûlrim girls, but there was no sign of Seri. With the sun almost set, it was long past time they should depart on the road home. Shadows were beginning to grow around the stables on the edge of the village. "Where is that girl?" Himdol groused angrily, pacing beside the wagon.

"Perhaps she is angry with you," Inglenn replied stiffly. Himdol shot her an annoyed look.

"I'll go find her," he growled. "Everyone stay _here_. We'll be leaving as soon as I come back." Himdol marched back into the village.

Inglenn tucked a blanket warmly around Torthor, who'd already fallen asleep on the buckboard with his head on her lap. Her stiff-backed demeanor made Madavi chew her lip. No matter what Pratima said, she still worried that she'd offended this good woman.

"Ma'am," she ventured quietly, and Inglenn turned her head slightly in acknowledgement. "I'm... I'm very sorry about... earlier today."

"It is Seri you should apologize to," the woman said tightly.

"I would... but she is so angry with me," Madavi replied.

"As she should be," Inglenn said. "You had no business striking her. You should be ashamed."

"I'm sorry," Madavi whispered miserably. Pratima reached over and patted Madavi's hand.

"It's my fault, ma'am," Pratima interjected. "I shouldn't have called her names. It was a mean thing to do. I'll apologize to her when she gets back."

Inglenn didn't say anything for several moments. "She... didn't get on well with the family we stayed with in Minas Tirith, during... during the siege. I suppose... she didn't particularly like helping about the house... with chores... as though she was a servant." Chuckling bitterly, she bowed her head. "I suppose I... let her have her way... a little too much. Things were... difficult."

"Of course they were," Madavi said gently. "We didn't see Minas Tirith, but we helped some in Osgiliath. It was so sad..."

Turning to look at Madavi with surprise, Inglenn said, "You truly think so? Though it was... your master who...?"

Madavi nodded. "It was terrible, what was done there. Such a beautiful place it must have been..." Sighing wistfully, she continued, "When we left Mordor, it was like walking into a dream. Everything was so green and alive..." She glanced at Pratima, who nodded, her lips a tight line. "We were just as afraid of Him as anyone."

"I never thought...," Inglenn began softly, then cried out in surprise as the wagon lurched. The horses had jerked restlessly and were stamping their feet in agitation. A bellowing roar sounded from some fifty yards off.

"What is happening?" the woman asked nervously, clutching her sleepily stirring boy tightly and scanning the woods beyond the feeble torchlight from the stable.

Both Madavi and Pratima knew that sound. They looked at each other in bewilderment. Why on earth would an Orc be coming to a village full of Men this late at night?

All around them, the shadows began to move, and Inglenn screamed. Yanking her son to his feet, she dragged him off the buckboard and leaped from the wagon. "Come with me, quickly!" she cried to the girls, and they wasted no time obeying her.

They ran toward the better-lit center of the village, the sounds of barking and yelling behind them. Madavi glanced back, and beheld the leering face of a Black Uruk as he ran after them, a broad axe in both his hands. She'd seem them a few times in Barad'dûr; great hulking Orcs that dwarfed most of their fellows and commanded respect. She'd seen them calmly going from barracks to mess hall, she'd seen them elbow other _snaga_ out of the way in passing, she'd even seen them annoyed enough to throttle a smaller Orc for getting cheeky. She'd never seen one bearing down on its prey, or _been_ the prey they were after.

In that moment before she looked forward again and hastened her feet, she saw nearly luminescent red eyes glowing in a pitch black face, slick wet tongue lolling from a gaping black maw... and her death if she didn't move fast enough.

The center of the village was chaos as Inglenn, Torthor, and the girls burst out of an alley into the midst of panicked people running from one pocket of horrors into the depths of another. Flames licked the sky over the assembly hall as strange men in dark clothing flung torches onto the roof. Madavi caught brief glimpses of terrible things happening around the edges: a man beheaded by a sword in the hands of an Uruk; another man knocked onto his face and skewered by a short spear held by one of the dark men; three Uruks gleefully ripping the limbs off a screaming woman...

Madavi thought she might faint. Never in her life had she seen an Orc do such terrible things. Her thoughts went to Smador; was he like this when she wasn't with him? The thought was too horrible to contemplate. Huddling with Inglenn and Pratima in the midst of the crowd, Madavi found herself inexplicably worrying that if she were to die, who would take care of Smador? Who would keep him out of trouble, and away from such influences?

 _I simply mustn't die_ , she decided.

Muscling his way through the crowd was a desperate Himdol. Once he reached his family, he embraced Inglenn for a long moment.

"Where is Seri?" Inglenn cried.

"I can't find her," Himdol replied tightly. "There are Harad men and Orcs all around the village. I... I can't find her." A haunted look was in his eyes.

"I know where she went!" Torthor piped up, and made to sprint off in search of his sister. Madavi was closest, and collared him swiftly.

"Stay here!" she told him sternly. Yet her eyes scanned the square, hoping to catch a glimpse of Seri's wild black curls...

"There!" Pratima suddenly cried, and darted away so fast no one could stop her. Madavi didn't think twice; she released the boy and ran after her friend.

Soon she saw what Pratima saw: a huge Uruk trying to drag a kicking, screaming Seri out of a building. Without considering for a moment that he was twice as wide and half again as tall as them, the girls launched themselves at him in a fury. Madavi yanked at the Uruk's homespun shirtsleeve, for his massive arm was too large to get a hold of. Pratima leaped on his back and grabbed fistfuls of his filthy hair, then hauled backwards with all her strength.

The Uruk bellowed furiously and let go of Seri to attend to the annoyances climbing all over him. He flung his arm wide, dislodging Madavi and sending her tumbling across the dirt. But try as he might, he couldn't get a hold of Pratima. He whirled around comically, trying to reach her with grasping hands. Sobbing hysterically, Seri staggered away, clutching her ripped bodice to her chest.

Deciding to make a grab below instead of above, the Uruk finally came up with a handful of skirt, and worked his way up to a leg. Then Madavi was back, swatting at his hands in an attempt to thwart him.

The Uruk might have lost his patience entirely and torn them to pieces if Himdol hadn't appeared out of the chaos and stabbed him through the neck. Experience prepared him for the creature's automatic swing in his direction, and Himdol ducked, then lunged. His sword pierced the Uruk's ribs; a quick retreat freed his blade before the Uruk could twist and wrench it from his hand. Then the fight began in earnest.

Madavi stumbled clear of the battle, grabbing a violently trembling Pratima by the hand and dragging her away as well. Together they caught up to Seri, who'd fallen to her knees and seemed unable to move. There were horsemen riding through the village now, and the girl was beside herself with terror. Madavi took hold of Seri's right arm, and Pratima took her left. They hauled Seri to her feet, then pulled her along to the cluster of people in the center.

Several minutes passed before Madavi realized that the horsemen, green cloaked Rangers like the Men who had led them from Mordor, were killing or driving off the raiders. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hugged both Pratima and Seri tightly, squeezing her eyes shut, and trying not to see the blades flashing or the blood spilling. Before long, Inglenn found her way to them and cried out, then pulled the three girls into her arms. Torthor had a deathgrip on his mother's skirts and just stared around him, wide-eyed and in shock, as one Uruk after another was felled by the riders.

There was no distinct moment that Madavi could say was the end of the battle. The men who came to their rescue fanned out and rode down the last of the men and Uruks who attacked, leaving a handful behind to assess the conditions of the villagers. The sounds of roaring Orcs, men yelling, swords clashing, just seemed to fade into the distance.

Yet she felt her heart would never slow its rapid beating. The battle sounds gave way to sobbing as calm began to return. The few riders in their midst dismounted and looked for injuries among those gathered. Himdol strode across the pitch, blood on his shirt, and pulled his wife into a fierce embrace once more.

"Are you all right?" a tall Ranger asked as he approached them. His face was careworn, his brow furrowed with concern. Madavi saw kindness in his grey eyes, and felt calmer.

"Yes," Himdol replied, pulling from his wife's embrace. He turned to Seri and dropped to his knee in front of her. Taking her hands, he breathed, "Were you hurt?"

She stood trembling for a few seconds, then dissolved in tears, throwing herself into her father's arms with a distraught cry. He closed his eyes and hugged her tightly. When Seri's choking sobs had diminished somewhat, Himdol rose to his feet, and guided his daughter into Inglenn's arms, then he turned to the Ranger still standing concernedly nearby.

"We are grateful," Himdol said earnestly, clasping the Ranger's hand. "Lucky for us you were so close."

"We tracked this group for twenty leagues," he replied. "I'm glad we caught up to them before they could do worse than slay a few horses and burn a building..." A troubled expression crossed his face as he looked around, taking in the few corpses that did not belong to Orcs or their Mannish allies.

"Cadoc!"

The Ranger turned and nodded to his fellow – a giant of a man – calling to him from across the village green. "If you will excuse me," he said with a slight nod to Himdol and his family, then strode purposefully in the direction of his comrade.

Himdol met Inglenn's glistening eyes for a moment. His wife held their sobbing daughter close with one arm, and their son with the other. Then he looked at Madavi and Pratima. "Thank you. _Both_ of you," he said thickly. The girls nodded awkwardly. "I think we will find... lodging here for the remainder of the night," Himdol decided. "I've no wish to travel the road after this."

Madavi hugged herself, looking around the green. A battle of a different sort had commenced as the villagers fought the flames engulfing the assembly hall. The Rangers not chasing down the raiders were tending hurts, composing and covering the dead, and helping to fill and carry buckets from the well to the blaze. Quite suddenly, Madavi's knees gave way, and she sank to the ground weeping. _This must have been what the war was like_ , she realized as she succumbed to the tears her shock had held at bay.


	8. Chapter 7: Connecting

The sun was nearly set. A day had passed since the raid, and Madavi still couldn't quite bring herself to meet Smador. It was long past when she usually went, yet she stood trembling in the smokehouse doorway hugging herself and staring across the darkening field.

The field was wide and long, surrounded by a forest that always seemed benign in the past. The small stand of trees where they usually met was closer, a little more than midway between the outbuildings and the treeline, but there was still a lengthy trek between here and there.

Yet she could not move an inch. Her body still ached from the tussle with the Uruk, and she found several bruises when all was over and done with. Had he actually gotten a hold of her...

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry.

"What are you doing out here?"

Startled, Madavi hastily turned, eyes wide and searching in the gloom. Seeing Pratima's familiar faded red head scarf, she sighed with relief.

"I'm... I'm not doing anything," Madavi replied quietly, looking back over the field. Pratima came close and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I wondered, you know," she said softly, "if he was a decent sort, since he started coming around here. I thought it was a bit cheeky, having you take such risks to feed him. And then we saw..." She let out a shuddering breath and leaned her head against Madavi's. "If he's your friend, then he must not be... like they were. And if he isn't like they were, then it's because you're _his_ friend. So... as long as you are, maybe he'll keep being... the sort you want to be friends with."

Shrugging, Pratima gave Madavi a squeeze. "You should talk to him in any case. It's not like you to just... abandon someone who needs you."

"I know," Madavi said shakily, her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm just... so scared. It's a long walk. And it's getting dark."

Pratima nodded. "The Rangers said this part of Ithilien doesn't have many... folk like those raiders. They've been... seeing to that." Her voice faltered and she went quiet for a moment.

"Smador hasn't found another clan nearby," Madavi ventured. "He's been looking... or he was. He hasn't said much about it for a long time."

"There, you see?" Pratima said encouragingly. "There aren't any around here."

"If I don't go to him, he'll... maybe he'll have to...," Madavi whispered fearfully.

"... join a group like that one," Pratima finished. "You don't want him to do that, do you?"

"No!" Madavi sobbed, then covered her mouth. "They were horrible! I've never seen... The Orcs we saw never..."

"We only saw them around the Tower," Pratima said, pulling Madavi close and hugging her. "We never saw them at war." Withdrawing a bit to look into Madavi's eyes, Pratima pointed out, "There were Men as well. You saw them. Himdol called them Haradrim, but you and I both know they were Husami. You remember what brutes they were."

Madavi nodded, sniffling. She fetched a kerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.

"Now gather up some meat and bread for your friend," Pratima instructed. "Extra, if you feel bold enough. Keep him out of trouble." Giving her friend a parting squeeze, Pratima went back to the house.

Taking a deep breath, Madavi let it out slowly, her eyes once more scanning the field. Nothing moved in spite of the light breeze blowing just enough to urge the wheat to sway a bit. Her gaze went to the house, and the flickering candlelight in a few of the windows. Seri was apparently still wakeful, or simply wished to sleep with some light. Madavi could understand that. Torthor put up such a tremendous fuss at bedtime that Inglenn gave in and allowed him to sleep in his parents' room. For once, Himdol didn't so much as mutter a protest.

A light flared in the window of the room Madavi and Pratima shared. She wondered if her friend would leave the candle burning until Madavi came back. Though Pratima wore a brave face now, Madavi had watched her cry just as much as she had once the shock wore off and Pratima realized what she'd done... what _they'd_ done.

Seri, for her part, hadn't said a word to either of them, nor had she mustered the courage to look the girls in the eye. But she also hadn't called Madavi or Pratima names again.

Gathering her courage, Madavi put those dark thoughts out of her head. She took a cloth sack from the wall of the smokehouse and filled it with a few small cuts from a side of beef one of Himdol's friends traded for five sacks of grain a few days earlier. She hoped nobody would miss it; there were several more carcasses from other farmers and herders in the area, curing and marinating for winter. Still plenty for the family.

Clutching the aromatic bundle to her chest, she closed the smokehouse door and aimed for Smador's usual hiding place. Her footsteps began slowly as she worked up her nerve, but as the distance stretched - seemingly longer than it ever had before - she quickened her pace until she was running. Choking on fearful tears, she finally made it to the tree and leaned against it, gasping for breath.

Apart from the wind, there was no sound. It was so unlike the daytime, full of birdsong and the incessant scrape and chuff of hoes in the dirt. Worse, there was no moon, and this far from the house, she could see almost nothing. Pressing her back against the tree trunk, Madavi stared wide-eyed into the darkness. She slowly sank to the ground and hugged her knees, trembling all over.

"'At you, Madavi?" a low-pitched, sleepy voice sounded above, and Madavi gave a little cry of alarm. "Just me, yer ol' Smador. Where yuh been?"

Though his voice held more concern than accusation, Madavi cringed. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, nearly in tears. "I just... there was... an accident... then the Orcs and Men came, and... a fire... We... we stayed the night..."

"Hold on, now," Smador interrupted, "whatchou on about? What Orcs?"

"A raid," she sobbed, the horrors coming back. The darkness seemed to be closing in on her, and she began to weep. "Orcs and Men... they killed so many... it was... it was terrible! I was so afraid... then one of them had a hold of Seri, and Pratima went to help her, so I went too... Oh, Smador, it was a Black Uruk! He was so big! I don't know what I was thinking, and Pratima... she jumped right on his back and pulled out his hair! He knocked me flying..."

She was startled from her nearly hysterical retelling when Smador scrambled down from the tree to squat beside her. In truth, she hadn't seen him since before the Fall, except in glimpses through the leaves of this tree. Though it was too dark to see him well, she could at least make out that he wore rough clothing similar to what the Mûlrim men would wear when working in the fields. Far better than his simple loincloth, and she felt inexplicably relieved that he'd secured something warmer.

The darkness didn't hide his startlingly luminescent green eyes though, but there was nothing cold or hateful about them. "Yuh sayin' you and 'at Pratima went an' tangled with a Black Uruk?" he breathed in disbelief.

"Yes," she whimpered. "I was so... so _frightened_." Then she covered her face and wept.

"'Ere now," he rumbled quietly, wrapping his long gangly limbs about her. She gratefully clung to him, embracing him with one arm and clutching his thin, ragged shirt in her hand. "All 'at's over, eh? Yuh hurt bad? Yer folk see to yuh?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "Yes. There were... there were Rangers... like when we left Mordor. They... they killed them all..." Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed her tears. Drawing back enough to look up into Smador's face, her brow creased with worry. "Please... tell me you're... you don't... The sort of Orcs you're... you're looking for..."

Sighing, he drew her closer and rested his cheek on her cloth-covered head. She sat nestled between his thighs, her forehead tucked against his neck. For the first time, she was aware of his earthy scent. She found herself drawing it in, moving closer still. The feelings that came to her, far easier to articulate than the particular nuances of his odor, were of comfort and warmth. She found herself calming, and closed her eyes.

"Ain't sure what'm lookin' fer," he said slowly, his normally rough voice gone flat and quiet. "Can't say'm all'at mad 'bout them Uruks gettin' what's what. Cause... well, don' know'em, do I? Don' much care fer the village folk, neither, come tuh that."

"Oh," Madavi said in a small voice. "I suppose... I can't help feeling... sorry..."

He chuckled, and she could feel his amusement shake his body a little. "'At's cause you's Madavi," he said softly. "Only my Madavi'd feel sorry fer... folk she don' know. Give'm anything they's needin' cause... you's Madavi. An' 'at's how yuh are."

"Anyone I meet may be a friend one day," she explained. "I've always believed that." Slowly letting her hand relax, she smoothed his rumpled shirt where she'd gripped it so tightly. "Did you have any friends besides me, Smador? In the Tower?"

He shrugged. One of his hands idly rubbed her back. "Couple, yeah. Used tuh get in'n outta trouble with'em. 'Ere was Harnod; she's a good'un tuh have 'round. Clever gal; always thinkin'. Got me'n Kumur outta some tight spots. Good'uns, both of'em." Madavi smiled at the fondness in his voice.

"Where are they now?" she asked without thinking. Her smile faded; though his body didn't so much as twitch, she could nevertheless _feel_ that he wasn't happy with his response.

"Load'uv us come outta the Tower when it was comin' down," he said quietly. "Just... ran like Master's whips was on us. Got tuh the Teeth 'n... 'Ere's loads'uh Men there, sorta... cleanin' up the mess, I s'pose. We didn't go near, cause we ain't stupid, but then we saw a buncha folks like you lot comin' round, 'n... Well, them Men didn't do nothin' to yuh. So Harnod got tuh thinkin': you lot was _snaga_ same as we was. Most'uh _us_ didn't think much'uh Master neither. Maybe... if they's sparin' _you_ , they'd..."

He swallowed uncomfortably and shifted a little. He sighed again. "Weren't such a good idea, in the end. Took a long while to talk some of the lads and gals intuh comin' with us. Guess I just wanted tuh think... Harnod ain't been wrong before... Guess... she don't know Men's well as she thought..."

"Oh, Smador," Madavi said quietly. She reached up and touched his cheek. He nodded his head a little, rubbing against her hand.

"Didn't get a chance tuh say nothin'," he continued. "They's on horses, most'uv'em, 'n they run us down. Harnod was in the front, bein' the...," he said, and paused suddenly, his face going hard, "... she got a spear through the chest fer'er troubles. Me'n Kumur was runnin' flat out, but it weren't fast enough." A small, amused smile curved his lips. "Shoulda seen'im. Man come ridin' up alongside and tried tuh skewer'im, and Kumur just grabbed that spear'n yanked'im off'uh the horse! Still kinda sore 'bout Harnod, see. Maybe 'at'un didn't do'er in, but we tore'im up all the same."

"You _killed_ him?" Madavi asked with surprise.

"Course!" Smador confirmed. "They was killin' us all over the marshes like we was them rats in the sewers. Only thing slowin'em down was the pools, and 'at only got'em off their horses. Nar, don't go feelin' sorry fer'em, Madavi. They didn't lose near's many..."

He went silent for a long minute. Madavi waited, her brow pinched. Smador always seemed so cheerful; it was only after the Fall that he'd shown bitterness about anything, even though his position in the pecking order must surely have caused him grief sometimes. But now it wasn't quite bitterness that was robbing him of his voice and making him swallow hard a few times.

"Good lad, 'at Kumur," he murmured. "Good'un at yer back. Had tuh... 'nother'un come up'n... had tuh... tuh let'em have'im... Just... got scared'n... 'n ran." He sniffed a bit and wiped his nose. "Good lad."

"I'm sorry, Smador," she said sadly. She stroked his back to sooth him. "I'm sure I'm not as... as clever as Harnod, and... not as brave as Kumur, but... I'm here."

He squeezed her briefly, and she felt him relax a little. "Yeah, you's here, Madavi. Like yuh always been. Wouldn't say yuh ain't brave, though. Not if yuh picked on a Black Uruk."

"I didn't 'pick on' him," she clarified seriously. "He was hurting Seri."

"'At Seri what's been givin' yuh a hard time?" he asked archly. "'At Seri what's called yuh names?"

"Yes," she said awkwardly. "The same."

He laughed a little, then sighed. "My Madavi. You's a good'un."

"I'm glad you think so," she said quietly. She felt rather proud to be counted among his dear friends, a 'good'un' like Harnod and Kumur, though she wished very much that she'd met them before.

"Maybe yuh... yuh come round when it's like'is, eh?" he ventured cautiously, looking up at the black sky. "Leaves is fallin' off'uh the tree. Ain't gonna hide yer ol' Smador fer long."

"Oh!" she said, startled. "I suppose you're right."

Another light chuckle shook him. "Ain't never... had one'uh you lot... so close. Don't feel so bad's I thought it might."

She smiled shyly. "I haven't either. It's... nice. Maybe because it's you."

"'At's what I thinks," he agreed, his voice a rumbling purr in his chest. She felt it against her palm, still resting on his heart.

Remembering why she braved the darkness in the first place, Madavi started. "Oh! Smador, I _did_ bring you something..."

"I knows," he replied quietly, making no move to release her. "Can smell it. It'll keep."

"I suppose so," she said, and relaxed. Breathing in his scent again, she settled contentedly in his arms. Though his arms were still a bit thin, she felt utterly safe, as though nothing so terrible as a battle-frenzied Black Uruk could reach her as long as she was with Smador.

The minutes stretched until Madavi realized the night would not go on forever, no matter how dearly she wished it would.

"I should go back to the house," she sighed. "Before I'm missed."

"Yeah," he nodded, and she could hear a similar reluctance in his voice. "Don't wanna get yuh in no trouble."

Huffing a little as she sat up straighter, his hold loosening to let her go, Madavi frowned and said, "It hardly seems fair. Aren't I... aren't I _free_? I was told it meant I could live as I chose. Well, I choose to have a friend like you, Smador. Why is that not allowed? Why must I hide? Why must _you_ hide?" She folded her arms over her chest and glared into the darkness as though the answers should come from there. Smador was silent beside her. "I just... I don't understand freedom," Madavi continued. "Our Master's gone, the one who made everything bad for these people. Our new masters are so much kinder. I... I suppose I want to believe... If they knew about you... I mean, Pratima does. She urged me to..."

Smador's head shot up and he fixed her with an anxious look. "She knows 'bout me?"

"Yes," Madavi nodded. "She knows, and she urged me to come see you. Even in the dark. Because... she knows we're friends. She knows what you mean to me." Seeing his concern, she reached up and touched his cheek. "She won't tell anyone. I know she won't. She's... well, she's been helping me. Making sure no one knows that I'm..." Faltering with embarrassment and shame, Madavi swallowed hard. "She's hiding how much food I'm... I'm stealing for you."

He stared at her for a long while, until she shifted a little uncomfortably under his steady gaze. "You's stealin'... fer me? Yer ol' Smador?" he said quietly. She nodded miserably. "Why yuh go'n do that? I knows whatcha think'uh stealin'."

"You were starving," she replied, shrugging helplessly.

A smile curved his mouth, and the lower tusks that only peeked out most of the time showed more openly. He slipped a hand behind her head and drew her close until their foreheads touched. "Don't wantcha gettin' in no trouble, Madavi, but... yuh saved me with yer thievin'. Ain't gonna ferget that."

* * *

The side door creaked a bit as Madavi slowly closed it on the night. She'd been terribly reluctant to leave Smador for some reason, and only when he'd insisted that he needed the remaining darkness to get to his hiding place did she let him go. Now she crept up the servant stairs to the top room where she and Pratima lived.

The house was quiet and still enough to make it seem her light footsteps fell like the thundering feet of a mûmak. She nearly bit her lip clear through as she made her agonizingly slow and careful way up to the safety of her room.

Finally, she slipped through the door and leaned against it gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief. The bit of candle stub was still burning feebly on the nightstand, casting enough light to show Pratima's huddled form on their bed. Madavi hastened over and blew out the candle to spare them losing any more of it. She hastily shed her dress and climbed into the bed in her shift. Her side was cool, but Pratima was warm, so she pressed her back against her friend and tried to find sleep.

"Was he there?" Pratima asked sleepily.

"Yes," Madavi sighed. "We had a good... talk."

Pratima shifted slightly as though to glance over her shoulder. "Just a talk?"

"That's all," Madavi nodded curiously. "What did you think we were doing?"

"Nothing," Pratima said uncertainly. "It's just... the way you said it... Never mind. You won't be worth much in the morning if you don't get some sleep."

"I'm very tired," Madavi agreed, snuggling closer. "Very tired." She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It was rather difficult to manage when she kept thinking about strong thin arms and warm scents.


	9. Chapter 8: Giving

After the raid, Smador came around a few nights for food and conversation, but he seemed restless. Then quite suddenly, he disappeared for weeks. Madavi braved the darkness for hours every night, huddled at the base of the great tree and anxiously searched the shadows for her friend, but he did not come.

Her worries conjured a number of terrible fates that might have befallen him, for the villagers who'd survived the raid were vengeful. There was talk of 'scouring the forest' and eliminating any lingering threat of Orcs that might be found. By day she listened to every speck of news that reached the farmstead, and by night she stood vigil in the field.

Smador's unexpected, but desperately looked for, return brought such joy to Madavi that she fairly collapsed upon him, gripping him fiercely and weeping with relief. It seemed so easy to embrace him now, after the first time she'd been enclosed in his gangly arms. So easy...

"I've been so anxious!" Madavi confessed. He seemed the worse for his absence, with new marks upon his face and bare limbs. He consumed the slice of deer haunch she brought him as though he hadn't eaten since he was last at her side. While he ate, she covered her mouth with her hands to keep from peppering him with questions. It seemed she would never stop smiling just from the sight of him.

Licking the juices from his fingers, Smador didn't speak for several moments. He simply stared at nothing. His reticence was worrisome, particularly after so long a time away. There was only the sound of the wind, picking up at night now that snow threatened. Bundled warmly in a thick overcoat, she'd brought a blanket for her friend. He was wrapped up in it now. At a loss, she tried to fill the silence.

"I sought to warn you," she ventured. "There was talk after the raid. The folk in that village... they demanded assurance of their safety. Rangers were searching the wood. I thought... I feared..."

"Yer ol' Smador knows when Men's comin'," he said quietly. "He knows where tuh hide."

"Why were you gone so long?" she asked anxiously. "Did something happen? Tell me, please."

"Just... lookin' fer Orcs is all," he muttered. "Fer the winter months. A hole tuh... hide in. Lookin' fer... somethin'."

"Did you find it?" she whispered, dreading his answer.

"Couple... camps," he said with difficulty. He grunted a humorless laugh. "I never cared before, if I didn't know'em. But these years've been hard, Madavi. Real hard. Gettin' so's I'll... I'll take any Orc I find. Any of'em. But they just ain't around."

"Were the camps you found... abandoned?"

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Found one'at'd been left behind when they run off. Didn't leave much. Figgered... maybe the next one. 'Cause... if they run off, maybe... maybe I'd catch'em up. Next one I found, though..." He paused, and his brow furrowed. "Weren't so lucky. It were the little'uns what... got tuh me." He closed his eyes. "Didn't wanna see yuh, I was so mad." He looked apologetically at Madavi. "Thought I might... hurt yuh."

"Smador," she breathed, startled by his confession. She could think of nothing to say. Her hand went to her heart and she stared at him in confusion.

"I wouldn't," he hastened to reassure her. "You's my Madavi. Just weren't sure of it... when I was lookin' at'em all." Awkwardly leaning close, he lightly pressed his cheek to hers. "Sure of it now, though."

"I am so sorry about the little ones," she said sincerely. "No child deserves..." Her throat closed, and tears welled in her eyes.

"Whatchou sorry fer?" he asked, drawing back to look at her curiously. "You didn't do nothin'."

"I can't help...," she began, then faltered. Her chin quivering with anguish and her hands balling into impotent fists, she lamented, "I don't understand this place, these people. How could they? Children! It should not matter who their parents were."

"'At's why I ain't mad at yuh," Smador murmured. "Couldn't never be mad at my Madavi." His eyes closed and a half smile smoothed his brow. "You's a good'un."

"Please don't look anymore," she pleaded, taking his hand. "I worried for you so, and your search only brought you pain. Stay here, even if you must hide. I do not want to lose such a good friend as you, Smador." The tears that had threatened were sliding down her cheeks.

"Nar, don't go cryin'," he soothed, pulling her close. She pressed her leaking eyes into his neck and fought to steady herself. "I won't go lookin' no more. But... after 'at raid... I guess I dunno why yuh... don't hate _me_."

Shocked, Madavi shook her head. "Why ever would I hate you?"

He bowed his head and turned away. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he sighed, "Bet 'at family'uh yers, in 'at big house... Tellin' yuh all'uh time 'bout... rotten, filthy... Orcs..."

"No," she assured him, stroking his cheek. "No. They say nothing of Orcs." She could not behold his growing despair and loneliness, and tell him that Himdol and Inglenn refrained from speaking of Orcs only so not to frighten their children. Especially now, after Seri's experience. The girl didn't show Madavi and Pratima any further disrespect, but neither did she embrace them as friends. The last few weeks, however, had instilled a change of a different sort in her, for she often awoke in terror during the night.

"And you are not rotten or filthy," she went on. "You are my friend. You have _been_ my friend. You will always – _always_ – have a place with me. Wherever I am, and whomever I serve."

He stared at her for a long moment, his brow twitching uncertainly. "Oughta... do summat fer yuh," he mumbled.

Again, Madavi shook her head, a small smile curving her mouth. "You needn't. Only stay, and be safe. It would break my heart if anything were to happen to you."

Smador chuckled a little. "Don' wanna do that. Gimme them hands. I don't got much, but..." He gestured for her to come closer, and she smiled more broadly as she scooted over. Her hand between his relaxed and she closed her eyes.

"I confess... I have missed this," she murmured.

"Me too," he purred, his fingers gently rubbing. Unexpectedly, he leaned close and nuzzled her ear. Though surprising, Madavi only startled a little. Their eyes met – hers bewildered, his questioning. Perhaps he saw what he'd hoped to see, for he smiled slightly, and went back to her hand.

* * *

"He's back, isn't he?"

Madavi nearly dropped the dish she was scrubbing. Turning quickly, she looked sharply at Pratima. The older girl smiled.

"I haven't seen a smile on your face for weeks," she explained. "I'm glad for you."

Calming her swiftly beating heart, Madavi continued the washing up. "Yes. So am I."

"I helped Inglenn sort the clothing from storage," Pratima continued. "There are several things too worn for keeping. If you'd like to have a look before I give them over to the other workers..."

A smile spread across Madavi's face. "Thank you."

"We must look out for him," Pratima reasoned, neatly stacking the plates next to the basin. "We can't let something bad happen to him."

Madavi paused to stare at her friend. "You truly believe so?"

"Of course," Pratima nodded. Then she paused to look at her friend. "He's not like those raiders, and he's not a soldier. You said he mucked the tunnels, lowest of the low. The Orcs who were lowest were treated the worst, remember?"

Surprised by her friend's serious expression, Madavi could only nod silently.

"So you look after him," Pratima continued carefully lest someone overhear. "Like you did back... home. You and I know what... his kind are about. If he isn't taken care of, he could be like them. If that happens... nothing you say will save him from these people."

"It isn't right," Madavi whispered fiercely, "and it isn't fair."

A slight smile curved Pratima's mouth. "So nothing has changed." Gathering her friend in her arms, the older girl held her close and whispered, "I'll wrap those clothes for you."

* * *

As the first flakes began to drift from the overcast skies, the Mûlrim who worked the fields moved on to other homesteads to manage the winter stores and livestock. Several were conscripted to guard granaries against any prowling Orcs or desperate Men seeking plunder. Madavi and Pratima, being housekeepers, remained in the main house and carried on their duties as they had the previous winter, seeing to the cleaning and cooking for the family. Each night, Madavi braved the encroaching darkness of shorter and shorter days and the bitter wind to deliver sustenance to her friend.

A month passed uneventfully but for the gradual approach of Smador. It began with an embrace upon their greeting. They reached out to touch arms or shoulders as they laughed together over the silly pranks Torthor pulled on Pratima, and her unruffled responses. Madavi found she enjoyed the feel of his skin, so warm and alive.

One particularly frigid night, they huddled together beneath a blanket in the lee of the great tree, blowing on their hands and whispering secrets. He confessed that he sometimes wondered what became of his mother, and was a bit troubled by thoughts that she might be long gone.

"Don't remember'er much," he murmured, leaning close. His body was warm in spite of the weather, and Madavi unabashedly cleaved close. "Not no more. Once I got bunged outta the pits... never got tuh go back."

"You miss her," Madavi observed. "I've no idea what it... feels like, to have a mother." Shrugging a little, she amended, "I suppose I know what it _looks_ like. Inglenn cares so for her children. I've no doubt she would move the heavens and the earth for their safety and contentment. Perhaps that is what it is to be a mother."

"Yeah, I miss'er," Smador nodded. "I were just a lil' sprog when she got called. The kind nobody notices, so I got tuh stay with'er longer'n most. You been... kinda like a mum tuh me. Sorta. Not... all the way, though."

"Oh?" she asked, looking up at him. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be pondering his thoughts more than usual. "Is that what you want? A mother?"

He slowly turned to meet her eyes. Smiling, he shook his head. "Nar. 'At ain't what a want. Not from you."

"Good," she sighed, snuggling closer. "I don't think of you that way, either."

"Whatcha think'uh me?" he murmured, his lips brushing her temple as he spoke. "Whatcha want from me?"

"This," she replied. "To know you are safe. To see you every night. To share stories, things we've done or seen. You are such a beloved friend to me, Smador. And of course, you are a wonder with my hands," she added with a giggle.

"'At's 'cause I likes yuh," he smiled. "The things yer doin' fer me... seems like... yuh like me too." Quite suddenly, she thought she heard a serious note in his voice, and looked up at his face again. "Yer stealin', probly lyin'... 'At were shit yuh told me not tuh do. 'Cause... yuh said it weren't right. I done it anyways; didn't have no choice, but... I guess I kinda knew you was lookin' out fer me when yuh told me it were wrong."

"I was," Madavi insisted. "I _am_."

"Yeah," he nodded, smiling fondly. "Betcha knew yer ol' Smador were still up tuh no good in them tunnels, but yuh... didn't call'im on it, did yuh?"

"No," she replied firmly. "I understand why you felt you must. I understand why you must, now, do similar things." Caressing his cheek, she whispered, "You are my friend."

"And you's mine."

Then he did something that quite stole her breath. Slowly as he did it, uncertain of her reception as he seemed, Madavi immediately sensed the gravity of the gesture. Curling around her, his breath held, he pressed his teeth to her chin so gently, she felt her heart's beat quicken and her cheeks flush.

"Better git," he breathed, his lips brushing her skin like a whisper. "'Fore yer missed."

Confusion reigned as Madavi made her way through the shadow-laden field. She could not still her heart, or calm her breaths. Ever after, she had no memory of the journey up the back stairs to the room she shared with Pratima.

"Are you all right?" her friend asked as Madavi trembled beside her in their bed. For a long moment, she couldn't reply. She felt Pratima roll over to face her. "Madavi? What happened? Was he there? He didn't run off again, did he?"

"No," Madavi finally answered. But she found she could say nothing else. Whatever he'd done, it seemed to be something terribly special and private, meant just for her. Very like a kiss. Though she was frozen with shock, she'd felt a compelling desire to draw him closer, as though he _had_ kissed her. But now that Pratima had spoken of his frequent absences, she wished she'd held him to her longer. As if he'd bestowed his favor in farewell, not in welcome.

* * *

The following night, Madavi hastened to the meeting place as soon as the household quieted. She'd been distracted with worry all day long, enough so that Inglenn dismissed her for the afternoon to have a lie down, thinking her unwell. Pratima tried to reassure her that she misspoke, that surely the Orc wouldn't run away at this time of year. Madavi's caring would surely keep him round. Food must be terribly scarce in the winter.

Clinging to hope, she ducked into the shadow of the tree, for the moon was full and the sky clear. The snow glittered like diamonds upon the fields. Closing her eyes, she held tightly to the bundle for Smador, leaned against the trunk, and waited.

"Didn't think yuh'd come back," the Orc's voice whispered suddenly, startling her. Madavi's breath, long held, escaped in a whoosh.

"Of course I did!" she replied, searching the shadows for him. Climbing down from the naked branches where he'd waited, cleaved motionless to a stout branch like a squirrel, he grinned sheepishly. "I thought... perhaps... you would not return."

"Why?" he frowned.

Shaking her head, she smiled. "It's not important. I brought extra. I was... I did not have much at supper."

Smador seemed hesitant, his brow furrowing. His voice was low when he said, "Wanna show yuh summat."

"Show me what?"

He swallowed hard. "Just... where I bin... spendin' my time. Got a good place. Real close."

"I would love to see your place," she said warmly. "We shall have a meal together there, as we always did."

"Yeah," he smiled. Then his smile faded. "Ain't gonna hurt yuh."

Startled, Madavi frowned. "Why would I think you would hurt me?"

"I knows what yer ol' matron used tuh tell yuh," he said, bowing his head. "Don't folluh them Orcs down their holes, she said."

"Smador," she said gently, raising his chin. "I am not following some... mischievous scamp of an Orc down a hole. I am following my friend to his home."

"All right then," he said, nodding.

Though it was dark beneath the trees that grew beyond the hedgerows, Madavi had no trouble following her friend as he trotted confidently on all fours. He frequently stopped and looked back to make sure she was following, or paused to cock his ear at some sound. Before long, he'd led her so far from the forest's edge that she couldn't see the snowy field anymore.

"It's just here," he called softly, then all but disappeared down a scrub brush-covered hole at the foot of a steep hill. Blinking, Madavi dropped to her knees and peered inside.

It was a hollow he'd likely dug himself, with room enough for him to stretch out. There were the blankets she'd given him, neatly layered in a sort of sleeping pallet. Some crude weapons – handmade spears, mostly – were lined up at one end. A handful of large stones, polished from countless years in a riverbed, were stacked in a careful arrangement. Upon the topmost stone Madavi saw the glittering shine of coins.

"There's room, if... if yuh wanna come in," Smador said nervously. He squatted on the blankets, staring at his hands as they worked to nervously light a small oil lamp.

"Forgive me," Madavi said, crawling into the hollow. "I suppose I didn't quite know what to expect." Laying her bundle on the ground near the entrance, she sat beside him and looked about. "It isn't so cold in here as I thought it might be."

"Nar, not too bad," he said. "You can... take off yer coat, if yuh want."

"I believe I shall," she smiled, divesting herself of the thick garment. Looking him over in the flickering firelight, her smile broadened. "You're wearing what I gave you."

His grin was shy, his chin ducked. She'd never seen him so nervous. "What I had weren't worth much when I got it. Startin' tuh fall apart."

"Smador," she began hesitantly, "is something wrong? You seem... out of sorts."

Raising a trembling hand to rub the back of his neck, the Orc took several deep breaths before answering. "I brung yuh here... cause... wanna do somethin'... with yuh. Figgered... yuh wouldn't want it... in a pile'uh snow."

"I'm sure anything you suggest...," she replied uncertainly. "The place hardly matters."

He cleared his throat nervously. "It'll matter this time." Slowly turning toward her, he dragged his eyes up to hers for a moment. His breath came heavily, as though something of great importance was burning inside him to get out. His hands shook when he reached up to untie Madavi's tunic.

Madavi had been picked by enough Men to recognize what Smador sought. Though Pratima's long-ago tale of the Goblin midwife and that poor woman with her mistakenly begotten Orcling briefly flashed into Madavi's mind, it felt wrong. This was Smador, her dearest friend. If he wanted the use of her body, she could think of no one she would rather give herself to.

Closing her eyes, she let him peel her tunic off. She did not sit rigidly, as she had for others; his hands were slow and careful, so unlike the Men from the barracks who managed their business quickly. His warm lips roamed about her shoulders and neck, and his large hands caressed her breasts.

It brought strange feelings and confusing thoughts, being touched in this way. Pleasant shivers went through her, something she'd never experienced before. Was this what it felt like when done 'with' her? She'd always thought of it as something done _to_ her. She wasn't certain whether she should like it as much as she did.

She was startled from her thoughts when Smador wrapped an arm about her shoulders and eased her gently onto her back upon the blankets. He lifted first one foot, then the other, removing her worn, snow-dampened shoes. Bewildered, she lay still as his hands slid up her legs beneath her skirt, and eased her underclothes off, then her skirt entirely.

This was, indeed, a very odd experience. Brow furrowed, she stared at the ceiling of the little hollow, watching the dancing shadows while Smador rubbed her thighs. His slow hands seemed to be urging her legs apart, so she hastily complied.

"Somethin' wrong, Madavi? Dontcha want this?"

Raising her head slightly to look at him in utter confusion, Madavi's lip trembled. "Forgive me, I... Am I doing it wrong?"

Smador's brow was creased worriedly, and she realized he'd removed his own clothing as he'd attended to hers. She was taken aback; she'd never laid eyes upon a Man's unclothed form. It wasn't her place to look at them when they used her.

Shaking his head, Smador gently closed her legs and crawled up to lie at her side. Unsure, Madavi returned her gaze to the ceiling and swallowed nervously.

"Yuh said you been picked, back in... 'at place," he said quietly. "Thought it... meant the same fer you lot as it do fer us." She glanced at him worriedly. "Ain'tcha been... Ain't a Man ever... yuh know... been down'ere 'afore?" His hand lay softly upon her sex.

"Of course," she nodded. "They gave me coins."

"I knows, it's just... yuh just layin'ere like... Is it cause it's me?" He looked more than worried now; perhaps embarrassed to have begun.

"No," she reassured him, touching his face. "You are my friend, Smador. If you wish to use me, I..."

He shook his head and pressed his fingers to her lips. "Nar, not use yuh. Madavi, you's my friend. My _only_ friend. Just wanna be... close, 'n... this... It's s'posed tuh be good fer yuh."

"I thought... it was not meant for me," she replied.

"Fuckin' _tarks_ ," he cursed under his breath, looking away. Scowling at nothing, he growled, "Ain't true. Ain't true at all. 'At's how raiders go about it, not friends." Composing his features, he looked at her and sighed. "Friends make it good fer each other. I can show yuh, if yuh want."

The sensations he'd awoken in her body still fluttered nervously, unsure if they were allowed. Trusting in her friend's calm assurance, she smiled and nodded.

"I think... yes," she said. "Show me."

* * *

Madavi lay in Smador's arms, her eyelids as heavy as her limbs seemed to be. He'd draped a blanket over their bodies afterward, and cleaved close to her, drifting in and out of sleep. She wasn't certain what to do now, or whether there was something she should do. Outside, the wind blew harshly, and she knew this late at night, it must be quite cold. In the comfortable warmth of his bedding, with his cheek resting upon her bare breast, an arm cast lazily yet possessively across her belly, she found she had no desire to part from him.

"Whatcha think?" Smador murmured. Her reply was interrupted by his tongue flicking across her skin. She drew a sharp breath. "Good, eh?" he chuckled.

"Yes," she gasped. "I had no idea. You have always made... _everything_ better, Smador."

His large hand slid up her body to gently caress her breast. "So've you. Just... lettin' me be Smador. Never expectin' me tuh be nothin'... nothin' else." His tone seemed sad; Madavi awkwardly stroked the tuft of hair atop his head.

"Now why would I do that?" she told him. "You're fine just as you are."

"Ain't what some'uh them Orcs I found awhile back was thinkin'," he grumbled. "Wanted me tuh... do shit I ain't good at. Shit I don't know how tuh do. Just so's they'll _consider_ lettin' me join'em." He paused to nuzzle her breast briefly, then raised his head to look at her face. "You ain't never been like'at, Madavi. You just... let me be yer good ol' Smador."

Tears welled in her eyes, seeing the expression on his face. As though her acceptance was a great relief to him, when even his own kind cast him aside. "That's all you ever need to be."

He smiled hesitantly. "Yuh always done so much fer me, always been'ere fer me. Just wanna... be 'ere fer you too."

"But you have been!" she insisted. "You always made my hands feel so much better. And... you sat with me every day..."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "I et half yer food every day. That don't sound like much tuh me." Leaning close, he brushed her chin with his teeth. "Nar, you's my Madavi. My friend. Wanna be 'ere fer yuh... like 'is. 'N make it good fer yuh."

"You have, Smador," she said softly. "You always have. I would...," she began, then paused. Her cheeks flushed shyly. "I would not mind if... if you wished to... be here for me... once again."

A slow grin spread across his face, and his green eyes seemed to glow with a relieved sort of happiness. "Be glad tuh."


	10. Chapter 9: Filling

Madavi's night-time liaisons with Smador lengthened until she was returning to the house very late in the night. She couldn't seem to pry herself from his side and brave the cold, not when feeling so drowsy and warm in his arms. Part of her wanted to stay until the dawn's light threatened, though such an indulgence would likely be noticed. He had always opened her eyes to new things – what it was like beyond the kitchens, the farmstead, the confines of her small world – and now he made her feel alive in a way mere words could not describe. She wanted her days as well as her nights filled with him, in his little den while the harsh wind howled outside. But each day as she struggled against weariness, she was reminded that she still served another.

Though she could sense a growing unease in Pratima, her friend did not confront her for nearly a week. The girls were kept busy assisting Himdol in clearing the walkways now that the snows had begun in earnest, then Madavi would disappear for hours each night. She would not return to their room until well past moonrise.

"Of course, all is well," Madavi would assure Pratima on the rare nights the other girl was awake when she slipped into bed. It pained her to do so, but Madavi waved off the many worried questions Pratima asked. "I would be quite upset if it weren't!"

She should have known that Pratima would fairly burst from curiosity. An unexpected trip to the nearby village for supplies and a larger coat for Torthor – he seemed to have grown swiftly out of his coat from last year – finally gave her concerned friend the opportunity she needed. Insisting she and Madavi would be better employed in keeping the house warm and the walks clear than accompanying the family, Pratima arranged for the two girls to be left behind alone.

The wagon barely passed beyond their sight in the swirling snowfall before Pratima rounded on Madavi. "I can't stand it. What in the world keeps you so late every night?"

Startled, Madavi couldn't answer for a moment. Should she tell her friend the truth? But how could she? What would Pratima think of her? Neither Pratima nor Sima ever spoke of when they were picked as being enjoyable. Her nights with Smador seemed a world apart from those times in the tower when gruff, indifferent men used her, and she had honestly forgotten how it had felt before. She wasn't sure if it was right to like it.

"You know where I go," she replied evasively, turning back toward the house. There were rooms to tidy and morning fires to be quenched until the family was due to return.

Pratima followed close on Madavi's heels, unwilling to let the girl escape. "That wasn't my question," she pressed. "It has been terribly cold every night. I know you meet him by that big tree; there is nothing to protect you from the freezing wind out there! Yet you stay for _hours_. He's not keeping you waiting all that time, is he?"

As Pratima's voice grew stern, Madavi gnawed her lip. "No, of course he isn't. He... that is, I..." Her brow pinched with indecision.

"Madavi," Pratima probed, "I worry so much: you out alone in the cold and dark..."

"Oh!" Madavi cried, shaking her head emphatically. "I am not alone, nor am I cold! Smador meets me at the tree, then we go to his den..."

Her friend blinked with surprise. "You follow him back to his _den_? Madavi, what are you _thinking_? Don't you remember what the Matron always said?"

"He is my _friend_ , Pratima," Madavi countered. "I'm all he has. He has _never_ done me any harm, and he _won't_. We talk and share a meal as we always did in the cellar, and he doesn't _hurt_ me or... anything of that sort."

"Hmph," the older girl snorted, folding her arms over her chest. "I suppose he wouldn't dare, would he? If he did, who would bring him food? Who would keep him fat and happy in his little hole so he doesn't have to do anything for himself?"

Madavi felt angry tears sting her eyes. "He is not fat, nor is he particularly happy. He isn't like that, not at all. He's my _friend_ , don't you understand? He needs me; he has no one else."

Taken aback by her friend's distress, Pratima swiftly embraced her. "I'm so sorry, Madavi," Pratima apologized. "Hush, now. I shouldn't have said anything. But I have worried. I suppose... if he has enough goodness in him not to hurt you when you come to his den, then... well, he's nothing like what the Matron always went on about, is he?"

"No," Madavi agreed, wiping her nose on her kerchief. "He isn't like those... those Orcs who raided the village, either."

"I'm sure he has you to thank for that." Drawing back to look at her friend's face, Pratima said, "I'm glad you only see him at night. If anyone here knew..."

Madavi nodded, a troubled feeling stealing over her. Was her friendship with Smador so wrong? If her influence kept him from doing mischief and diverted him from wicked deeds, if her care gave him enough food and warmth to spare an innocent person his desperate thievery, was it wrong?

Her uncertainty of the answer overshadowed any worry she might have harbored about how her nights in his den were spent.

* * *

The winter passed into early spring, and the Mûlrim began to return from farmlands further south for the planting season in Northern Ithilien. Madavi and Pratima spent their days welcoming old friends from last season and training the new ones. Himdol guided the men in plowing a fresh field, allowing the large field with Madavi's tree to go fallow for a year. She might have lamented the loss of that familiar meeting place had she not taken ill.

When the last of the frost had melted from the hedgerows, Madavi began feeling a discomfort of the stomach. On waking, she felt compelled to vomit, and again, suddenly, at mid-day. She had a bloated feeling as well, and could not get comfortable at night.

Weeks passed with no relief. Because the spells were brief, Madavi didn't feel right begging off from work. She discretely vomited in the outhouse, but after a swallow or two of cold water, she found herself able to continue on with the day's chores. Not wanting to be sent to bed when there was so much work to be done, Madavi hid her illness as much as she could. But some eyes were far wiser than others.

On a cool morning in April, an old Mûlrim woman joined Madavi and Pratima in rubbing the hardened seed corn from the ears that had lain in storage since the last harvest. Nahid had come with the newer workers, looking after the injured Mûlrim as well as minding their youngest while the parents worked the fields. Like most of the migrant workers who moved from farmstead to farmstead, she was browned from the sun and her ruddy cheeks were wind-burned. Wisps of grey hair peeked from her tattered headscarf that might have once borne a dotted design, but now seemed too faded to discern its color.

The conversation was lively, for Nahid had many stories of the old days to tell, of minding the Upstairs rooms and seeing to the ladies there, but Madavi only half listened. Her stomach was roiling and she had a headache. It took all her strength not to vomit into the bucket at her feet, where the kernels dropped with hollow plunks.

She didn't notice when her friend and the old woman stopped talking.

"Madavi, are you all right?"

Startled, Madavi fumbled and dropped the ear of corn. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she cried. "I was listening!"

"Don't fuss, child," Nahid told her. "You'll work yourself into a state, and that ain't good for you."

"I'm fine," Madavi replied as she retrieved the half-shucked ear. "My thoughts were elsewhere. I apologize."

The old woman snorted a laugh. "I'm surprised you're still walking about like this," she commented. "Households in these parts are real particular about hiding what their menfolk get up to."

"What are you talking about?" Pratima asked curiously.

Nahid ignored Pratima's question and regarded Madavi seriously. "You won't hide it for much longer, girl," she warned. "Sooner or later, your little secret will come out."

Madavi froze and stared as the old woman chuckled to herself and dropped kernels into the bucket. She couldn't breathe, and began to feel light-headed. Did Nahid know about Smador? Did she know that Madavi stole from the food stores? How _could_ she know, when she'd only been among them for a few weeks?

"I'm... I'm sure I don't know what... what you're talking about," Madavi stammered.

"Were you one of my gals," Nahid continued as if Madavi hadn't spoken, "I'd have gotten rid of it quick. Masters don't want their little 'indiscretions' walking about." Glancing up at the girl's confused face, she added, "Unless it ain't the Master who's been having you." Then she winked and carried on with a fresh ear.

"I'll have you know," Pratima retorted primly, "that Master Himdol is not that sort of man."

Again, the woman snorted. "All men are the same, girl." Pointing at Madavi, she said sternly, "Don't go thinking he'll toss his wife and children aside for you. It doesn't matter what promises he made to get you into his bed; you'll not stay there. Especially not now."

Madavi swiftly shook her head, feeling sudden relief. The woman was terribly mistaken. "No, you have it wrong. Master Himdol would never do such a thing. Why ever would you even suggest...?"

Now the woman's brows arched. "You don't even know, do you?" she said with disbelief.

Bewildered, Madavi glanced at her friend, then blinked. To her surprise, Pratima was staring wide-eyed at her, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"What is it?" Madavi asked Pratima, but Nahid answered.

"You're gone with child, girl," she informed Madavi matter-of-factly.

For a moment that seemed to last eternally, Madavi stared at Nahid as if she could not comprehend the woman's tongue. Her eyes darted to Pratima's and saw shocked hurt, as though the older girl, having been privy to a lifetime of Madavi's secrets, was not found worthy enough to know this one. But there was no secret she hadn't told Pratima, her closest friend. This couldn't be true, it simply _couldn't_! Shaking her head in denial to both of them, Madavi clumsily rose from her stool and hurried into the house.

* * *

Pratima wasted no time in escaping Nahid's company and following Madavi. "Why didn't you say something to me?" Pratima hissed in an undertone in the back stairwell. "I thought... I thought we were friends!"

Madavi hugged herself and bowed her head, ashamed that she was the cause of her friend's hurt feelings. "I didn't want you to think less of me," Madavi sobbed.

A moment later, the older girl embraced her, and they wept together as quietly as they could. Pratima didn't ask who had done this to Madavi. With their fellow workers absent from the farm all winter, who else could it have been but Smador?

"How could I?" Pratima assured her, then she glanced around to make doubly sure they were alone. "He didn't... force you, did he?" she whispered anxiously. Madavi was too shocked by the accusation to do more than stare at her friend with an appalled expression and vigorously shake her head. Pratima sagged with relief, but only for a moment before lamenting, "Oh Madavi, what will we do? You can't bear an Orc child, you just _can't_!"

Her friend's anxiety fed Madavi's, and the younger girl felt the crushing weight of fear herself. Then Pratima said something horrible. "We'll have to get rid of it," she said firmly, as though it was the best solution. "Nahid knows how, I'm sure of it. She'll find the Herb somehow, you'll take it, and we'll pretend this never happened. She's one of us; she won't tell our Masters."

"I _couldn't_ ," Madavi breathed, stricken by the thought. This was different: it wasn't inflicted upon her by accident in the tower, and it wasn't an unwanted consequence of being picked. Somehow, she could not think of it as something foul, not when it was so gently made by her and Smador.

Pratima clutched her friend's hands tightly, and fixed her with a desperate look. "Don't be a fool," she chided. Her creased brow showed her worry, and Madavi was suddenly reminded just how few years separated them. Pratima looked as helpless as Madavi felt. "If you bear his child, they'll kill you! _And_ the baby! Himdol despises Orcs; he will see this and think... he'll think you betrayed his kindness! And if he should find out you stole _his_ food to feed..."

"You won't tell, will you?" Madavi begged. "Please, Pratima, please! I... I can't... I must..."

"Shush now," Pratima scolded. Shaking off her moment of childish helplessness as though dislodging snow from her shoulders, the older girl gripped Madavi's arms and met her gaze. "If Nahid is right, and you're with child... something _must_ be done."

"I can't kill it," Madavi whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "I can't."

"Does he mean that much to you?"

Madavi slowly nodded. "Yes."

* * *

Madavi's hands shook as she bundled meat and bread in a cloth. Her eyes blurred with tears the wind only worsened as she stumbled through the snow to the tree. Her heart ached from the worry in Pratima's voice. Her stomach lurched with fear of what Smador would say.

Pratima was certain he would flee. She made Madavi promise that if Smador ran, she would consider taking the Herb. Though she'd agreed that it would be best, she didn't want to imagine actually holding the cup of poisoned tea in her hands, or putting it to her lips. Yet she feared she would have to.

"Good tuh see yuh," Smador's quiet voice greeted her from the tree. He climbed down from the branches, still bare from winter. More and more little green leaf buds were beginning to show with each day. Madavi could barely see them in the dark, but she knew they were there.

She found she was unable to answer, and offered a strained smile. Noticing her expression, Smador's brow pinched slightly as he turned to lead her to his den. "Found somethin' fer yuh," he commented as he loped along, sometimes glancing over his shoulder with a concerned look. "Thought yuh might... like it some."

"I... thank you, Smador," she replied in a subdued tone. Should she tell him? she wondered. What would he do, what would he say? Would he run as Pratima said, or... Well, she couldn't quite imagine what else he might do. She could barely think of what _she_ should do.

Once they were in his den, he fussed over her comfort, smoothing the bedding and fetching a blanket for her shoulders. He'd been very kind to her over the last few weeks, rubbing her back and belly to sooth her ill feelings. Though they'd coupled frequently through the winter months, he never made overtures if she was feeling poorly. They'd lain together less often once her stomach began its irregular churning. Instead, he held her close and warmed her with his body. With or without coupling, she found closeness with him to be of great comfort to her. The thought of losing him now brought too much heartache to bear.

On this night, he proudly presented her with an odd stone that sparkled in the lamplight. Somehow he'd split open the rock, revealing a wealth of white crystals. For a moment, Madavi was too awed to think of her plight, and looked in wonder at the treasure.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, feeling the weight of it in her hands. "Wherever did you find this?"

Shrugging and grinning sheepishly, clearly pleased that she liked his gift, Smador casually replied, "Ah, not far. 'Ere's streams here'n 'ere. Was chuckin' some rocks at a wolf, 'n this'un broke."

"A wolf?" Madavi said with concern. "Were you hurt?"

"Course not," he replied with youthful bravado. She couldn't help smiling at him. "Take a lot more'n a mangy wolf tuh git the better of yer ol' Smador." Reaching over, he patted a thickly furred pelt streaked grey and black. "Nar, I was tougher'n he were."

"You have had... an exciting day," she ventured, staring at the pelt. He'd done a modest job of skinning the animal, she supposed, but the musky scent of it seemed much stronger than she would've expected. Her stomach flipped, and she pressed a hand to her belly, biting her lip.

"Stink botherin' yuh?" Smador asked worriedly. "I can move it out if yuh like." She nodded silently, holding a hand over her mouth and closing her eyes. The Orc obligingly took the bloody pelt outside; Madavi didn't open her eyes until he'd returned and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

Madavi only held her composure for a moment before she burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. The glittering rock fell into her lap, forgotten. Quick as a fox, Smador was at her side, pulling her close. "Whatcha on about, Madavi?" he murmured into her hair as he rocked her gently. "Somethin' I done? Yuh still sick?"

Embracing him fiercely, she spent her fear and worry on his shoulder. It was a long time before her tears ran their course, and she was able to speak, to _breathe_. Yet he held on, and she was grateful for it. _If he should leave me, whatever would I do?_ she thought.

"Smador," she finally said, her voice hitching. "I... I was told... to-today... An old woman... she said... she said..." Her grip about him tightened. _Don't go, please_ , she silently begged.

"What old woman? What'd she say?" the Orc asked warily. She felt him stiffen, and wished her arms were strong enough to hold him forever.

"She said I'm... I'm..." Fresh sobs tore at her throat as she blurted, "She said I'm going to have a baby!"

She could feel it: Smador went rigid with shock and began to tremble.

"Nar," he replied shakily. "Nar, I'd'uh smelled it." Drawing back from her, he met her eyes. A half smile of disbelief and denial was on his face as he shook his head. "I'd'uh knowed. Yuh didn't never go intuh heat. I'd'uh _smelled_ it, and I wouldn't'uh touched yuh."

"What is 'heat'?" Madavi whispered, grasping at the nearest straw. Her question seemed to set him off, for his eyes widened and he began to breathe in rapid huffs.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Yuh ain't an Orcess, are yuh? You's different. Ah fuck. You's _different_."

Lip trembling and eyes wide with terror, Madavi breathed, "Don't go."

Smador blinked stupidly for a moment, then seemed to truly see her distress for the first time. His breath escaped in a rush, and he nearly fell upon her, gathering her in his arms again. "Nar, nar. Yer... yer ol' Smador ain't goin' nowhere," he assured her. His uneven voice betrayed him; Madavi knew he was just as afraid as she was. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout it? Yuh gonna... k- ... kill it?"

"No," she rasped hoarsely, fumbling for her kerchief. "No. I could never do such a thing. But I'm so frightened. Pratima said... she said our Master would kill me..."

"Prob'ly would," Smador agreed. "Ah fuck," he repeated as another wave of realization struck him. "Yer gonna go ahead and have it, ain't yuh?"

"Do you think... I shouldn't?" she whispered, biting her lip in dreadful anticipation.

The Orc gasped for breath for several moments without answering. Being in his arms hid his face from her, but Madavi had known him for years; she thought she knew what must be going through his mind.

"I promise," she ventured, "I promise to keep bringing..."

"Nar," he interrupted, shaking his head emphatically. "Nar. 'At ain't gonna keep happenin'." Leaning back, he looked her over. Balling his hand in a fist, he hesitated, then opened his palm and rested it on her belly. After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah. You's... you's carryin'. Feel a bit of a bump 'ere."

When he looked at her face, his was a mix of emotions, shifting through so many Madavi couldn't name them all. Finally, a little smile twitched his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was choked with incredulous joy. "'M gonna be a da."


	11. Chapter 10: Hiding

Though Smador's acceptance relieved Madavi greatly, it did not change her dangerous position. Each day might bring discovery. Already, Madavi was worn thin from the strain of secrecy.

The night after Madavi revealed her pregnancy to Smador, Pratima emphasized the precarious nature of her situation. "You can't go on much longer," Pratima observed while washing up from dinner. "It might just be because I know, but... I can _see_ it." She nodded toward Madavi's belly.

Already deeply troubled, her friend's words caused Madavi to fumble the pot she was drying. Carefully setting it aside, she gingerly touched her middle, and tears welled in her eyes. "What must I do?"

"Luck is on our side for once," her friend said quietly, glancing about. The family was still at the table, conversing with an old friend from the village. They hadn't seen him for some time; from the sound of it, and with the uncorking of the best wine from the cellar, the reunion would likely last for hours yet. Seri and Torthor had long since retired. "You have to leave. Tonight."

Madavi froze and stared at Pratima. "Leave _now_? But... the washing up! And straightening the dining room after..."

"They're going to be at it for some time," Pratima interrupted. "I'll say you felt ill and went to lie down, if anyone notices." She glanced toward the dining room. "There won't be a better time."

Wide-eyed, Madavi whispered, "I can't. I... I haven't said anything to Smador. I can't just..."

Pratima straightened with indignation. "What did he expect you to do? If he isn't already preparing to take you into his... home, or whatever it is, he's a fool. No, you're joining him tonight, and that's the end of it."

"Just... run away? How could I? They are my masters! I am beholden to them."

Her friend shook her head. "No, you are free. If we were still slaves, they wouldn't pay us. You've collected a great deal of coin; use it to get away, to buy food, to... to _live._ Even if you must hide."

"But... I've never seen a birth. How would I manage it?"

Already beginning to plan, Pratima continued as if Madavi hadn't spoken. "I'll take your part. Visit at night, as you did, and bring... whatever you need. The longer you stay, the larger it grows. _They'll_ see it, and they won't be happy with you."

Wincing at the thought of displeasing the good people she'd served for years, Madavi bowed her head in shame. "I have stolen from this family. You will do so as well, on my account. I can't take their money. I will give it back to them. Leave a letter behind. Tell them I'm sorry..."

"No, you won't," Pratima countered swiftly. "You'll disappear in the night, and I'll come up with some story to explain it away. Maybe a tiny bit of the truth, so I don't falter."

"What do you mean?"

Pratima was already fabricating a story. She began to pace, her thoughts running swiftly. "I could tell them... you were foolish with one of the men in the fields last harvest. He didn't return this season, leaving you with his... um... Well, you were deeply ashamed, and fled lest the family think you a common whore. I've no idea where you went." She paused to gauge her friend's reception.

Madavi's brow furrowed, and she absently rubbed her rounding belly. She was not entirely happy with Pratima's version, but lacked the wherewithal to invent something better at the moment. "I... suppose. But I will leave my coins here. I've no right to them. Not anymore."

Laying a sympathetic hand on her friend's shoulder, Pratima nodded. "Let's pack your things."

Madavi had few dresses to bundle into a sack that night. Her only treasures were the coins she'd carried with her from Mordor; these she always kept in a small cloth pouch, and now slipped in among her clothing. They were worthless to any but her. Following the sage advice of her elder, Madavi took a few bits of cloth from the scraps basket, and needles and thread for sewing.

"It may be an Orcling, but I expect it'll need a blanket and something to wear all the same," Pratima told her. "And you'll need to let out your own dresses along the way." At the thought, she quickly grabbed another handful of scraps.

Though both girls had seen their fair share of Mannish and Orcish children, there were very few mixed breeds among the _snaga_. Madavi could only think of one boy she'd ever known who had an Orc parent, and he was quite a troublemaker. However, she couldn't quite recall his face. The boy didn't work in the kitchens, so she rarely saw him. "What do you think it will look like? Or _be_ like?"

"Hmph," Pratima huffed. "Not like that rotten little pig in the barracks, I hope. To start with, your Orcling won't be in the company of mean soldier Orcs, teaching it all sorts of bad manners."

"But... what will it look like?" Madavi insisted.

Pratima paused in her packing and offered a wan smile. "As pretty as you are, it's likely going to be pretty, too. Unless Smador's horribly ugly and counters it."

"He's not ugly," Madavi laughed, relieved. "I would say he's quite a handsome Orc."

Pratima patted her friend's cheek indulgently. "Of course you would."

Her humor faded once more as worry set in. "Is... does it hurt? Bearing a child?" Madavi asked.

Her friend shrugged as she bundled Madavi into her coat. "I expect it does. But not too much, or we wouldn't keep bearing them, would we?" Her smile was strained, and meant to ease Madavi's fears, but only served to reveal Pratima's ignorance. Neither of them had been present at a birth, nor spent any time around a woman expecting a child. In Barad'dur, though Mannish children were all about, their emergence into the world was not commonly attended by the kitchen slaves.

Pratima buttoned her own coat and shouldered Madavi's bag. She'd insisted on accompanying her friend, and meeting Smador at long last. "I want to make certain he'll look after you, in my stead," she'd explained, and Madavi was too grateful for her company to protest.

The girls crept down the silent hall, stopping and listening every few yards. The easy laughter and clinking of glasses reassured them that their masters were none the wiser. They made their way down the servants' stairs and out the rear door unnoticed. When they reached the smokehouse, Pratima paused.

"I'll have to let Nahid know," she confessed, and gave her friend a worried look. "I'm so sorry, Madavi, but I know nothing about bringing a child. I won't tell her about Smador, or bring her with me, but... I'm frightened. I don't want to make a mistake."

Forcing a smile, Madavi nodded. "I understand, and... it's all right. You may tell her. I'll need her wisdom as well."

"She's one of us," Pratima insisted confidently, perhaps for her own sake as well as Madavi's. "She'll help."

Madavi anxiously clutched the bundle of meat and bread to her breast. As they so often did these days, tears welled in her eyes at the thought of angering Smador with her sudden decision, and the unexpected presence of Pratima. When they reached the tree, Madavi called out quietly, "Smador! Please come out. It's only Pratima."

"What's she doin'ere?" Smador asked warily from the branches above. He seemed reluctant to descend. His large eyes glowed like eerie green gems from the shadows.

"Come along, now," Pratima urged firmly. "Let me have a look at you. She's my friend, too, you know."

Moving slowly and keeping his narrowed eyes on Pratima, Smador eased himself to the ground. Pratima took a step back under the Orc's suspicious glower. "What's goin' on, Madavi?"

She covered her mouth with her hand and her already shimmering eyes spilled over. Seeing her friend's distress, Pratima gathered herself and took charge.

"She's joining you," she told him. "Your child is already showing; if anyone finds out, she'll be in terrible trouble. Did you expect her to hide it and carry on as if nothing happened?"

Smador's suspicious and distrustful glare dissolved. "No."

Nodding with satisfaction, Pratima gestured for him to lead. "I want to see this den of yours. Make certain it's suitable. _And_ be sure you'll tend to her. Have you seen a baby come?"

"Sure, I have," he snapped. "Brung up in the dens, weren't I? Saw'em all the time."

"Good."

Smador glanced at Madavi and received a silent nod. He dropped to all fours and crept off in the direction of his den. The girls followed him as quietly as they could.

Madavi grew doubtful in Pratima's more knowledgeable shadow: Would the den suffice? Was it too far from the homestead for Pratima to visit, or too close and risk discovery? Would it comfortably accommodate her and Smador? When she spent part of her nights with him there, it seemed to contain all the room they needed. She'd never imagined sharing it with him, and worried it would not be large enough.

When they arrived and all three ducked into the den, it was quite crowded. Madavi chafed under Pratima's scrutiny as the older girl's eyes swept Smador's home.

"I suppose it'll do for now," Pratima finally declared. She handed Madavi's bag to the Orc. "I'll meet you at the tree each night, as Madavi has always done, _but_..." Leveling a finger in Smador's startled face, she told him sternly, "This cannot go on for always. You may not be a Man, but you're going to be a father. A father takes care of his family, and that means providing for them."

"I'll take care of'em," Smador growled.

"None of your scampering off for weeks and months," she scolded. "Leaving her to manage on her own while you..." Pratima gestured helplessly, finally giving up trying to guess what he might've been up to. "Just don't."

"I _won't_ ," he snapped crossly.

"Pratima, please," Madavi begged. "It'll be all right."

"You're far too trusting, Madavi," Pratima sighed. "Perhaps that is why this happened." She cast a baleful eye on Smador. "You'd better do right by her. Treat her well. It's on _your_ account she's in a cave, and not carrying on in the house. So you be good to her. And don't you ever leave her."

Smador bowed his head under Pratima's scolding. "I knows," he mumbled. "Won't do nothin' like'at. Not to my Madavi." Lifting his chin defiantly, he proclaimed, "We's mates now."

Softening somewhat, Pratima awkwardly patted the Orc's shoulder. "I'll bring food as long as I can manage it, but you need to hunt for more on your own. It's not just you by yourself anymore; you've another mouth to feed, and one more on the way."

"I can count," Smador muttered sullenly, but his eyes were wide and focused on the floor.

"When I'm able," Madavi interjected, hoping to ease his worries, "I can help. I don't know how to hunt, but there are other things I can do." Casting about in her mind, she rattled off, "I know what herbs and roots we can eat, and how to tell a good mushroom from a bad one. If you've sorted it out, I'd love to learn how to fish."

Glancing up hopefully, Smador ventured a little smile. "Yer ol' Smador'll teach yuh all he knows." Madavi beamed at him, and took hold of his hand.

"There, now," Pratima said kindly. "You'll be a proper family in no time." The girl sighed and smiled wistfully at the both of them, then shook herself. "I shouldn't stay much longer or I'll be missed. I'll meet you at the tree tomorrow night."

"Do come to the den as well," Madavi insisted. "I want to know... I would love to see you."

Pratima smiled knowingly. "I'll have reams of gossip to share, I'm sure. Torthor's bound to be a handful now that Seri's indulging prospective suitors." Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she added, "Only this morning, he wondered if a bucket of water propped over a certain door might result in a thorough soaking."

Giggling behind her hand, Madavi's eyes danced. "I want to hear everything."

"I'll see you tomorrow." Then Pratima ducked out of the den and was gone.

Madavi slowly turned her gaze on Smador, and her cheerful mood dwindled. He seemed sad and distant. "I am so sorry, Smador. I should've asked first."

He shook his head and seemed to come out of whatever thoughts held him in thrall. "Don't matter now. Would'uh told yuh to come, if you'd asked. So... either way, eh?" His smile seemed strained, forced.

"Maybe so, but Pratima had no business telling you off like she did," Madavi insisted. "You've always been such a good friend."

Smador's shoulders slumped, and he idly scratched at the furry pelt upon which he sat. "Didn't never think... S'pose... 'at's what's done yuh in, ain't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Couldn't never find nobody... like me," he muttered. "Orcs is either dead or gone somewhere else. 'M'prob'ly the last one in these parts. So... all I got is my... my Madavi. Just wanted tuh give yuh... somethin' good. But it turned out all wrong."

"Oh, Smador," Madavi breathed sadly. She scooted closer and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, leaning her head against his. "It hasn't turned out wrong. You're here, safe and sound. And now _I'm_ here as well. I won't worry for you again, because I'll be here with you, making certain you're well and happy. You are, aren't you? At least a little?"

"Course I am," he sighed, a slight smile softening his features. "I'll get out there first thing, and bring us home a meal, all right? Yuh won't never go hungry; I'll see to it. And our little sprog'll be good and fat."

Madavi laughed and hugged him. "I'm so glad to be here with you."

"So'm I," Smador agreed, snaking an arm around her waist. "You'n me, lookin' out fer each other."

"Yes," she replied. "Like a proper family."

Too weary from the long day and late night to indulge desires long shelved while her body adjusted to the new life growing inside her, Madavi merely pressed close to Smador's side in the layered bedding the first night in his den. The early morning sound of birds outside filtered down the tunnel and stirred her awake. After a few moments of snuggling against the Orc's warm body, she suddenly sat up in a panic.

"Oh my goodness!" she cried. Frantically tossing the blanket aside, Madavi scrambled across the den in search of her head scarf.

"What'cha on about, Madavi?" Smador mumbled sleepily.

"I've overslept! Oh, they'll be so angry! And poor Pratima, left to tidy the dining room all on her own... Why are you _laughing_?"

"C'mere," he grinned, peeling back the blanket and patting the bedding. "Yer home now. Don't gotta worry 'bout them folks no more."

"I suppose I don't," Madavi sighed. Smiling at his beckoning pat, she returned to their bed. "What shall we do with ourselves today?"

"Got me some ideas," he murmured, nuzzling behind her ear and urging a giggle. "Feelin' up fer it?"

"Do you think it's safe?" she asked worriedly. Frowning, Smador placed his hand on her belly.

"Dunno," he finally said. "Ain't seen'em carryin' on after an Orcess gets knocked up. But ain't no males 'llowed in the dens neither, 'cept on breedin' business. Ain't so big yet. Maybe... Yuh wanna try?"

A slow smile crept across her face. She reached up and gently caressed his face, then lightly touched her teeth to his chin. "I've missed you. Please. Be with me."

"Missed yuh too," he whispered, and gathered her close.

* * *

Madavi waited anxiously in the den while Smador snuck out under cover of darkness to meet Pratima. Her first day in hiding had been easier than she expected, and now she struggled not only against drowsiness, but nervousness in seeing her friend again.

How had the family taken her disappearance? Madavi fretted, hoping they weren't too terribly offended by her ingratitude.

Soon enough, Smador returned with Pratima on his heels. The scent of smoked ham filled the den quickly, and Madavi's mouth watered. But first things first.

"I'm so glad you came!" she cried, taking her friend's hands as soon as Pratima was within reach. "Sit, please."

"I can scarcely do otherwise," Pratima laughed, already bent double in the low-ceilinged den. She passed the parcel of food to Smador, who set about tucking it away in the cool depths of a rock-lined hole he'd dug in the back of the den. After Pratima settled herself, she began to pepper Madavi with questions at the same time that Madavi asked her own.

"How do you feel? Has the illness passed?"

"What was said? Did anyone give you trouble?"

"What've you done to keep yourself busy today?"

"You weren't taxed too greatly without me, were you?"

Both girls broke into laughter. Pratima recovered first, and set about answering her friend's questions.

Her expression turned serious. "Inglenn is quite upset," Pratima said. "She misses you terribly. She wanted to know which man so wronged you, but I had to confess I didn't know. I'm not sure she believed me."

"What's 'at?" Smador interjected. Pausing in the midst of arranging the food in the cold storage, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Someone did'er wrong?"

Pratima gave the Orc an impatient huff. " _You_ did her wrong, if you must know. I couldn't very well tell them the truth, could I? I made up a story; now they think Madavi dallied with some field hand last autumn."

"Oh," Smador muttered, subdued.

"Pratima," Madavi scolded, "he's not to blame. Please don't be mean to him."

Her friend sighed and squeezed her hands. "Forgive me, Smador. What's done is done, I suppose. And you are looking after her." Eying Madavi critically, she asked, "He is, isn't he?"

"Of course!" Madavi replied. "We did quite a bit today. Smador found some bird nests, so we had a good breakfast. He showed me a stream where we can fetch water and wash ourselves. There's a hill not far away that is so high, we could see for miles in every direction." Her eyes glowed, recalling the view, and how Smador held her hand ascending and descending that hill. He'd always opened her eyes to the world, and it seemed she could see all of it from that lofty height. That he squinted and grimaced in the sun, yet endured its rays for her sake, made her smile at him again, as she'd done nearly all day. Smador glanced up and caught her warm gaze, and smiled a little in return.

"I probably shouldn't say, but... Seri was quite nasty when she learned of your departure," Pratima said, and Madavi tore her gaze from her lover. Having reclaimed her friend's attention, Pratima continued, "She caused quite a row with Himdol. You know, I think he looks at you and I as... well, quite like his own children. He most certainly wouldn't hear any of her cruel words about you and... your condition. She was sent packing off to her room without dessert, and I made a lovely cherry pie." Smirking, she noted to the Orc, "It's her favorite, even if a 'mule' bakes it."

"Oh dear," Madavi said sadly. "I suppose she's back to her old self again."

"She's the sort who needs a rescue from a marauding Orc fairly regularly to remind her of her manners," Pratima sniffed primly. Glancing again at Smador, she grinned. "If you are ever in want of a task to occupy you..."

"Pratima!" Madavi scolded. Yet she found herself laughing at the thought. "For shame." Meeting Smador's gaze, she smiled at him, and he seemed to relax enough to chuckle at the joke.

After an hour, Pratima returned to the house, and Madavi was left feeling equally pleased and saddened. She curled up next to Smador and wept on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Madavi," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"No, no," she protested, wiping her eyes with a kerchief. "You've nothing to be sorry about."

"Why're yuh cryin', then?"

"Well, I suppose I miss her," Madavi replied. "We've been friends ever so long. I barely remember a single day that we haven't been together in a kitchen, in a dormitory, in a bedroom. I don't have a sister, but if I did, I think she'd be Pratima." Laughing at herself, she added, "I seem to cry so often these days. Sometimes, I don't even know why."

* * *

With spring warming the air and urging small game out of their winter nests, Smador had little trouble providing meals for them. Madavi was glad; each day, he returned triumphant, displaying his trophies and boasting of his improving skills. Where the last few years he'd seemed despondent, now he was aglow with purpose. He smiled often, particularly when teaching the handful of skills he'd managed to acquire over the years of living rough. Before long, she could bait a line as well as he, and once managed to land a fair-sized trout all on her own. How they'd laughed when it wriggled free of her hands and plunked back into the water with a cheeky splash!

The cool days stretched into warmer weeks, and soon summer was upon them. Madavi's trips through the forest in search of roots and mushrooms became shorter, and soon dwindled to rarity. Even if the sun wasn't too hot, she could only stand a few hours at the stream. Otherwise, she stayed within the den. Even though the den was cooler by far than the forest surrounding it, midday seemed to bring on a terrible discomfort to Madavi, leaving her breathless. More than once, Smador returned from a hunt to find his friend stretched naked upon their fur bedding, fanning herself and weeping in the heat. He was obliged to soak a cloth at the stream and rub her down, all the while marveling at her body's changes.

"Seen it 'afore, but... you's different, I guess," he told her helplessly as he rested a large hand on her belly.

"Very different," she sighed wearily. "It's ours. No masters, no armies. Just you and I, and the child we made."

"Ya," he agreed, then started. "Fuck. Yuh feel 'at?"

Madavi smiled and stroked his cheek. "All day. Nahid said I'd feel it kicking soon; she wasn't wrong."

Smador leaned down and pressed his ear to her middle. A smile spread across his face. "Chatty li'l thing."

"It's speaking? What does it say?" she asked curiously.

"Sayin', 'mummy, 'at fish were real nice fer lunch; gimme another, eh?'"

Smirking, Madavi swatted the Orc's tuft of hair. "Stop teasing. What do you really hear?"

Rising, Smador's expression softened. "Can hear a beat. Yers, and hers." He patted his own heart in a steady rhythm.

"You think it's a girl?"

"I knows it is. Ain't sure why." Shrugging, he turned to the sack he'd carried into the den and retrieved a glistening trout. "Lemme just cook 'is up fer the sprog."

* * *

"And _then_ , Torthor slipped a mouse in her pocket without her knowing it," Pratima related excitedly one humid night. Madavi sat on tenterhooks, fanning herself while her friend regaled them with Torthor's latest pranks. Smador snorted with amusement at Madavi's side. The frequent visits with Madavi's friend had finally eased the tension between them, and he'd come to accept Pratima as a friend.

"Seri walked right out the door on Dolrodh's arm none the wiser, until the poor thing poked its head out for a sniff, just as she was reaching for a kerchief! Oh, the _screams_!" Pratima's hands fluttered in dramatic imitation of Seri's panicky mannerisms then laughed, nearly doubling over.

"I hope it didn't bite her," Madavi ventured, though she struggled to keep from laughing herself.

"Oh, Madavi. Always so worried," Pratima chuckled. "Torthor will likely be made to stay home for the next trip to the village, and that means I will, too. I can't say I mind terribly; a day spared Seri's nasty tongue? I wouldn't trade it."

"Has she been all that bad? Truly?" Madavi asked, then winced and shifted her position.

"Worse," Pratima told her. "She asked me when I'd be escaping into the night for the same reason you did." The girl scowled. "And she keeps asking if I've seen you."

"She don' know yer comin' 'ere, does she?" Smador interjected. "Ain't followin' yuh, is she?"

Pratima waved his worries away. "Of course not. The little brat's afraid of the dark, even if she did see something. No, she's content to nip and growl all day." Sighing, she went on, "I haven't wanted to say, but Inglenn and Himdol also want to know if I hear from you, though how they expect me to do so when I'm never out of the house... They've both said, if I see you, I'm to tell you that all is forgiven. You're welcome to come home, even with a child."

"Oh," Madavi mumbled, bowing her head. Her face crumpled as tears spilled from her eyes. "They are so kind."

A wave of pain shot through her suddenly, and she gasped.

Pratima reached for her friend. "Madavi?"

"Oh my." Madavi clutched her belly with both hands. Like waves rippling across a pond, tightening and squeezing sensations erupted and cascaded seemingly down to her toes. Her breaths huffed rapidly for a few moments, and she stared at nothing.

"What's happenin'?" Smador asked, his eyes wide. "Yuh all right, Madavi?"

"Are you wet?" Pratima pressed urgently. "Have... have your waters burst?"

After a brief hesitation, Madavi shook her head. Slowly, the wave receded, and she was able to breathe again. "I think... I think... she's coming."

Pratima struggled against panic. "Na-Nahid said... she said it would take hours, the first time. So... you stay calm." Turning to Smador – who sat like a stricken lump, staring at Madavi – she told him, "You keep her moving, all right? She has to walk, to make sure the... the baby comes out right. And... and so she... she'll... Oh my goodness, I've forgotten!" Tears filled the girl's eyes and she covered her mouth.

A strange calm descended, and Madavi's breathing steadied. "If... if it's going to be hours," she reasoned, "then you should go back to the house. Find Nahid, and ask. I'll be fine until you come back. Smador's here; he'll take care of me." She glanced uncertainly at the paralyzed Orc.

"Yeah," he blurted, shaking himself. "I'll take... yeah."

"I will be back as soon as I can," Pratima promised. "Don't you dare have this baby without me!"

* * *

When day came, Madavi was already exhausted. The baby seemed both eager and reluctant to come, struggling for freedom one moment and digging her heels in the next. Madavi leaned on Smador all night as he walked her about the clearing near their den, frequently pausing to catch her breath and allow a wave of pain to pass. The morning light brought no easement to her labor, nor did it deliver Pratima.

"Is it always so... painful?" she gasped, clutching Smador's hand.

"Reckon, yeah," he replied anxiously. "Saw a load'uh sprogs come in the dens, 'fore I was bunged out. Some'uh them lasses was screamin' their fool heads off... Oh. Sorry." He pulled her close and rubbed her back, trying to soothe the frightened look on her face. "Yer gonna be fine, Madavi. I's here."

"I know you're right," she breathed, clutching the front of his shirt. "You always... always know."

"Let's get yuh movin' again," he suggested, his voice strained. "Walkin'll move it along. Then it'll be done."

By midday, however, Madavi feared she was no closer to an ending, though the pains were coming more frequently. Nahid had related, through Pratima, that the urge to push would be impossible to miss, so she just needed to be patient. The moment would come. Smador now employed his hands in rubbing her lower back, where the worst pain had centered. Madavi couldn't settle in one place, and moved about in endless, fruitless search of a comfortable position. She wept often.

Night finally fell, and the heat of the day that had eventually caused Madavi to peel her clothing off, began to diminish. As if waiting for such a queue, her body curled and convulsively bore down.

"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried, frantically reaching for Smador. "She's coming!" The Orc scrambled to her and halted.

"Whatcha want me doin'?"

"Get me up," she directed. "Let me..." Her words were cut off by a violent contraction. Smador crouched helplessly beside her until the wave crested and receded. Gasping for breath, Madavi gestured for him to get behind her. He maneuvered himself to cradle her body, and she leaned gratefully against him.

"I'm so tired," she whimpered, slowly working her knees up and apart. "So tired."

"Don't go sleepin' on'er just yet," he murmured. "Here's my hand; hang on." Then he drew a sharp breath; something was scrabbling through the entryway, coming inside.

"I'm so sorry!" Pratima cried, her face streaked with tears. "I came as quick as I could! Oh my goodness, I was almost too late!"

"You're here," Madavi sighed with relief, then another contraction stole her breath.

"You keep on, you're doing fine," her friend told her. "Don't worry about a thing. When you need to, you just push as hard as you can. That's it. Good. Nahid said to growl deep in your belly when you push; she said it helps."

"What do I need tuh do?" Smador asked desperately, wincing as Madavi's grip on his hand tightened alarmingly. "Ow!"

"You're doing fine, too," Pratima told him encouragingly. "Just hold her up, like you're doing. She needs to lean on... oh my goodness, I see the head! No, Smador, don't look! You'll bend her too much!"

"Whatchou doin' down'ere?" he asked nervously.

"Keeping her from tearing," she told him. Despite the numbing pain, Madavi could feel her friend's fingers at her opening, pushing and stretching the skin to let the head come through. "I don't know if I'm doing this right."

Wave after wave struck Madavi, coming in quick succession. She was in the center of a maelstrom, one anchor at her back holding on tight, the other urging and coaxing with words and hands. Madavi thought fleetingly that they were the only three in all the world, all focused on bringing a fourth to join them.

But she was so weary. Faltering, she sagged against Smador after a hard push and closed her eyes.

"Nah, nah, yuh ain' givin' up," he said gently. "Don'tcha wanna meet'er? Maybe tell'er off fer makin' yuh piss so much?"

Madavi laughed tiredly. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I don't... I can't..."

"Nonsense," Pratima scolded. "The head's almost out. You can do this, Madavi. Just a few more pushes. A few more, and you can hold her in your arms."

"Come on," Smador coaxed. "You's my Madavi. Yuh always had enough tuh give me. She needs yuh tuh give'er a bit more. Can yuh? Fer yer ol' Smador?"

Feeling a contraction building, Madavi slowly nodded, and Smador helped her lean forward again. Taking a deep breath, she pushed with all her strength.

"Oh! Oh!" Pratima cried happily. "The head's out! One more for the shoulders! Come on, Madavi! You can do it!"

In the end, it took two strong, desperate rounds to push the shoulders through, then a relief so profound she nearly fainted as her baby slipped free, straight into Pratima's hands.

Smador was completely overcome. Laughing and weeping in equal measure, he hugged Madavi tightly and watched as Pratima rubbed down his squalling sprog.

"Ain't she somethin'?" he murmured, his face wet with happy tears. "Look, Madavi. Look at'er. She's a beauty, ain't she?"

"Let me see her," Madavi breathed hoarsely, her arms weak as she reached out. Pratima had just settled the little girl in her mother's arms when the sound of a throat clearing awkwardly was heard.

Smador turned his head sharply toward the sound with a threatening snarl. Madavi froze, unable to breathe. Pratima whirled around, shocked.

Himdol crouched at the den's entrance, his expression a mixture of dismay and disgust. "I suspected today might be the day," he said tightly. He seemed momentarily at a loss for words, only managing to whisper, "Madavi… what... what have you done?"

Before Madavi could catch her breath, before she could say anything, Smador's snarl became a challenging roar, and a blade flashed in his hand. Pratima screamed.


End file.
